Having grown up beside the sea, I came to mountains in later years whereupon I fell in love with all a mountainous landscape has to offer. The peace, the quiet, the bliss of solitude, the freezing temperatures with nature at its most capricious. Brilliant sunshine one day, blizzards the next. The effort in getting to a peak, the exhilaration of flying down the mountain on a thick cushion of fresh snow and feeling forever young. . . . such is the thrill of winter in the mountains, mountains which are of themselves eternal landscapes of awe and majesty. (more…)
Posts tagged “postaweek2011″
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Broken down in Rhyolite, Nevada . . .
Allow me to introduce the charming and most colourful gentleman that is Kenneth. I was walking through the mens clothing section of a store in San Francisco when he caught my eye. His eyes and his demeanour were as bright and as dapper as his outfit. In his 90′s, he chatted about his baseball days playing for the Sea-Lions and about how well he knew Joe DiMaggio and his wife, the one named Marilyn.
He was more than happy for me to take this photo, albeit on the condition I send him a copy which I duly did with pleasure.
Hot Dog in New York City
and his owner cooling off in the shade of Tompkins Square, down in Alphabet City.
Old Fashioned. Such a state of mind. I could take a mug shot of myself and present a rather confronting picture of old and fashioned what with the facial lines and the lipstick but why would I do that to you? Why would I do it to myself? Far safer to stick with architectural realities, one faded but still there in the gritty reality that is Broadway in downtown Los Angeles, the other, the telephone lobby of the Wilshire Grand also in Los Angeles, remaining shiny and new but of its time in the past. If those telephones could talk . . . .
The third, and very dear to my heart, is my fountain pen. I take it everywhere and I can’t imagine a day without that comforting scratch of pen and ink upon a page. Whenever, wherever. This wherever happens to be Central Park, in New York City.
When men never made passes at girls who wore glasses . . .
When telephones sat on walls and people sat at bars and tables, talking face to face . . .
Blogging, the old-fashioned way . . .
Wherever I lay my pen, that’s where I’ll be.