A shot of the lower half of the falls.
I did very little editing, mostly just made it a bit brighter, and didn’t fiddle with the balance or boost the “color saturation,” or whatever it’s called.
I think the color comes from minerals and perhaps fresh-water algae. Pale blue? Pale turquoise?
The Crayola box (the big one, my go-to reference for art stuff) indicates “aquamarine,” but when I look online at a color chart, that’s way too green.
“Bluish” will have to do.
I went out one mornin’ when the sun didn’t shine
I picked up my shovel and began to whine
I loaded sixteen tons of wet gray snow
And my neighbor said “It’s just started to blow.”
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
It’s another foot deeper and my socks are wet
Saint Peter don’t you call me when there’s all this snow
It’s hellish cold and the wind does blow
If you see me comin’, better step aside
Snowblower’s goin’ and we’re goin’ for a ride
Throttle is stickin’ and you’re gonna take a lickin’
If the auger sucks your foot inside.
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
It’s another foot deeper and my socks are wet
Saint Peter don’t you call me when there’s all this snow
It’s hellish cold and the wind does blow
Time for Old Man Winter to make tracks & beat it.
One more cellphone B&W. For some reason, the low-resolution look just feels correct for this scene and a very cold February.
I think most of us, when we think of “tree” in our mind’s eyes, see a trunk and a mass of leaves.
But in this part of the world, these trees spend most of their lives leafless.
And on a warmer note, although I generally don’t photograph nudes, it’s a pleasure to be able to see the architecture of the trunk and branches.
Hello from Boston, Massachusetts, Winter Wonderland!
I haven’t posted any pictures from this town yet.
So I thought I’d send a few cellphone photos, from where we’re holed up,
above the snow line and away from the wolves, atop the Hancock Building.
We’re OK up here for now — we have 7 cans of Sterno, 4 boxes of Saltines, and a whole crate of Ovaltine.
Above is a shot of residents fleeing Boston on snowshoes, over the rooftops. That’s Quincy Market to the left.
In the next picture, I think the mound at the bottom is the dome of the Statehouse.
I took a few more pictures from the sledge, when the Lyft dogsledder picked us up.
Here’s the Castle at Park Plaza (on Columbus Avenue)
And the entrance to my subway stop on the MBTA line
And a new advertisement for the ferry to Hingham
Dairy aisle in the Whole Foods store.
“Looking for the Bus Stop, Friday Night”
Heck, I’m from Upstate New York – no worries.
They warned me the Yankees were a bit on the cool side, and a bit of weather doesn’t bother me.
So long for now! Keep warm!
I figured everybody’s seen a million photos of Niagara Falls, by better photographers than me! So these are mostly snapshots of the area around the Falls, taken on Saturday.
The freezing spray glazed our coats, so they crackled when we took them off, and added layer after layer of ice to every non-moving object in the area, making a walk kind of tricky, but it’s always very interesting and beautiful to visit the Falls in winter. Until your blood begins to gel, of course.
1,2 = Coin-operated binoculars, coated with ice and turned into friendly-looking robots.
3-6 = Trees and shrubs covered with ice on Goat Island, in the middle of the Niagara River, and the American side of Falls.
7-13 = getting toward dusk, near Horseshoe Falls, on the Canadian side. The Falls are illuminated with colored spotlights.
I hope everybody out there has a wonderful New Year’s, and best wishes for a peaceful, happy 2018.
Xmas lights reflected in the ice
I just ran across this poem, “A Crystal Forest” by William Sharp (1913), (and quoted by Emma Watson as Belle in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast)
| The air is blue and keen and cold, With snow the roads and fields are white; But here the forest’s clothed with light And in a shining sheath enrolled. Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass, Seems clad miraculously with glass:Above the ice-bound streamlet bends Each frozen fern with crystal ends. |
Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman Go Bicycling in March
Afoot and light-headed I take to the open road,
Unhealthy, coughing, the world of snow before me,
The long white path before me leading wherever is plowed.
Hope is the thing with rubber tires
That perches in a snowdrift,
And hope has feathers, too,
If you run over a chicken during a whiteout.
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