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A Chilly Early Morning
Early morning
Chilly morning
Late November
From inside my home
The sun outside looks so warm
Memories of the early fall morning
Until I remember the date
Camera in hand
Hand and fingers chilling as the minutes go by
How to capture the beauty of the morning
This chilly morning
With a photograph
So many possibilities
The frost on the window
Hanging between the wisteria
Cold water, very very cold water
Pouring out of the fountain
Into a pond with crystal clear reflection
Of fall colors and blue morning sky
But the shot, as if calling my name
To be taken
When I walk beneath the red-ish leafed tree
Is the sun
Beaming toward me
Its light shining through the leaves
Highlighting what beauty nature gives us
Every chilly early morning
It was the late sixties
I was 11
5th of 7 boys
Dad was going to play in a volleyball tournament
I tagged along
He gave me his Pentax Asahi
4 rolls of Tri-X
That’s where it started
My oldest brother, Dave
His bedroom next door to mine
Hear Santana blaring through the wall
Along with Butterfield Blues Band
… and the Blues Project
When those weren’t playing
He was on his red Guild Hallowbody electric guitar
Jaming out to an original blues tune he wrote
... or maybe Lightnin' Hopkins
... or Howlin' Wolf
I was hooked
To his music
Dave's music
Then Woodstock happened
My first image that I remember
Of the iconic rock festival
Of Carlos Santana
Shot by photographer Jim Marshall
Since that time I wanted to capture the energy
Of Live Music
On Stage
Up close
As if I am a part of the band
My instrument I play?
A Nikon
There is that split second
During a show
Where magic happens
The musician pours all their heart out
Click is my response
Their soul captured in 2-D
I can hear, in this image
Issac’s voice
His Dad, Mark, backing him up
Singing classic rock-n-roll
The Joy of Music
Speed
Beauty
Do those two words go together?
For sure
I guess it was the skatebaord, early 1970s vintage, that got me hooked.
Bombing down the sidewalks of our town
University Classroom Center at the Univ of Idaho was a skateboarders dream
Smooth cement
Smooth speed
Oh how beautiful
Probably not the words of an 11 year old
But the feeling was there.
Next up
Ski slopes of the Alps
As in Switzerland
Davos
Bombing down the groomed runs
I was 13
Chasing my older brother
Only way to keep up?
Speed
Oh the thrill
But oh the beauty
Of life wizzing by at top speed
When my eyes water
That is when life is the best at speed
Next up
My French racing bicycle
17 years old
With the question
How fast can this bike go
Fast enough is the answer
Bombing down the smooth
And windy
Lewiston grade
Tight turns
Accelerating
Then braking
To set up the next turn
I went down the hill
Faster than a car
Beauty at speed
Speed under control
Gave me a terrific sense of
Freedom
And then the ultimate
My 650 Yamaha motorcycle
A straight, flat, smooth section
Of highway 95 in Northern Idaho
Saw me visit the extent of that motorcycles
Speedometer
Tapped out
So smooth
So fast
So young
So free
So beautiful
And then I grew up
