The older I get (and that’s pretty damn old) the more I appreciate the marks that aging leaves. If this tree was a perfectly formed spruce I doubt it would attract half the interest that this old warrior does.
The first ending. And knowing it would end I wanted another. Lover, summer, pen with which to write it all down. The first disappointment. Which is not remembered but lives in the body. And how familiar it became …Dimitrov
Standing at the door of death isn’t pleasant. It’s filled with pain, regret and an uneasy feeling you’d rather not be there. Everyone on this small rock we humans call home will die. It’s a given…but, all things being equal I’d rather sit by the water and look at birds.
This grove of trees is in Petaluma, California’s Helen Putnam Park. It’s a little less than an hour north of San Francisco in Sonoma county. To my eye, the absence of color and the muted gray tones make this a very meditative image.
I’ve been to this place hundreds of times. It’s land that was once owned by a old relative of mine who loved growing things, especially trees. I’m embarrassed to say in spite of all those visits, I never really “saw” those magnificent trees. In this photograph my wife is touching one. To me, it looks like she’s patting the universe.