Effect and Cause?
It’s that time of year in southern California. Extra high tides (the so-called king tides) alternate with spectacularly low tides (anarchist tides?), revealing tide pools teeming with fabulous occupants. I’ve never seen starfish out in the world, before!
The colors. The patterns. Everywhere.
A person can stare a long time waiting to see one of these gals move. Here’s evidence that movement recently occurred!:
These mussels have worked around a band of white plastic:
Amazing to see anemones with soft sticky outsides that are sludge-free. (Perhaps these critters live in deeper water than the sludged ones?) (I’m making that up.):
Anybody know what these translucent donut creatures are called?
I was not alone enjoying the tide pools:
Look, a tar bat!
These craters formed when water dropped from the rock above:
I know I’m not alone with this dilemma: the more photographs I take, the harder it is to enjoy the moment. That camera-phone stuck to my face – that oh! good shot! scrutiny – blocks my senses.
But if I’ve got photographs, I can re-live (a weak yet satisfying imitation of) that moment. Without photographs, all I’d remember would be the beach with the pier is nice at sunset:
By the time I uploaded my photos, I’d forgotten how the surf distorted the pier’s reflection:
Nowadays, I’m really trying to live in the moment, so as I continued my walk, I pocketed my phone. Then unpocketed it. Many times.
Capturing a pelican on camera marks a different kind of living in the moment:
One of the great things about the beach is how quickly everything changes. Every moment really does last a moment. Here’s what happened to the sunset when the fog got just a bit thicker:
One solution to photographing my moments away might be to keep going back to the beach. I don’t need photo memories of stuff I do and see all the time – do I? Hmm. My photo library draws a different conclusion:
My cats and my granddaughter. I’m lucky enough to see both all the time. Yet the photo library keeps growing in both categories… Thank goodness for the digital photo era.
(The WP Weekly Photo Challenge was Broken.)
Don’t tell my daughter about these photos. Every time I go to my favorite beach in Santa Barbara, I take pictures. She thinks I should stop. She’s right, I do have uncountably vast numbers of photos of the same half mile stretch. But nothing is static there, not even the eroding sea wall I’ve shot a bizillion times. On this trip, I discovered a piece of kelp tangled on the wall:
Things got interesting when I moved to the other side of the wall. Sunlight shining through and around the sea vegetable converted it to a fairy tale:
Now I saw a cascade of jewels, or maybe a despondent princess, silhouetted in the window of a castle tower.
I know a scientist who makes music on the side. He has a single CD that he keeps reissuing with new and revised songs. I’ve teased him about this but I’m doing a version of the same thing, aren’t I? A single beach, reissues of new and revised views.
My daughter is wise, but I will continue to defy her. Sure I’ve got lots of images with this sea wall – but with every visit it’s a new wall. Certainly, there’s never been a princess there before!
Anyway, it’s not like I’m wasting film. Which makes me uncomfortable, realizing that younger readers may not know what film is.
(The Weekly Photo Challenge topic is Refraction.)
By the time I got to the beach, the flowers had already started to shed petals into the sea. I don’t know what went down before I arrived, but a lovely bouquet in the surf can’t be a good sign.
Too bold on the first date?
Thanks for the birthday flowers, shame my birthday was last week?
Flowers can’t buy forgiveness, you @#$%^?
Graduation celebration run amuck?
What do you think happened?
(The WP Weekly Photo Challenge is Signs.)
How do I smell the ocean when vehicles drive along the sand? These signs need to talk more. (Admittedly, they are on opposite edges of the United States, but that is a technical detail.)
While we are on the subject, maybe it’s just me – and my sheltered Californian upbringing – but…
Dear Florida, it seems so very wrong to drive on a beach.
(left sign: Oxnard, CA; right sign: New Smyrna Beach, Florida)
(The WP Weekly Photo Challenge is to establish a dialogue between two photos.)
Which came first, the idea or my belief in it? I’m not sure. I am deep into writing of the second novel in the FRAMES series, in which seemingly inanimate objects like books and buildings are sentient beings. And – guess what? Everywhere I look I see objects that appear to be more than objects.
Is this a new perspective? Or did I always see things this way but have no reason to think twice about it? Certainly, I’ve always been fascinated by shadows and reflections and silhouettes – their ability to reproduce while distorting, maintaining the familiar within the strange.
Case in point. Below is a staircase banister at the Egyptian Theater, a deco movie palace in Hollywood, CA. In silhouette, the banister’s reptilian underpinnings become apparent. I see a head in profile, facing right. The iris bisects an eye that narrows to a point, into an elongated snout that slopes down and to the right, out of frame…
You see that too, right?
How about this one? The ocean has carved creatures in this eroded beach wall. You see this furry guy with the long nose, right?:
In this post-apocalyptic sunset, the creatures line up looking frail:
You see them, right?
This WP Weekly Photo Challenge was Silhouettes.
I can’t decide what I think about these images in a cliff face. Look at these photos and help me decide…
1) Are these accidents of erosion that coincidentally look like faces? Or did some beachgoer dig out rocks in an act of 3D graffiti?… or ….
2) Or — do these suggest creatures escaping from the rock? Or have I been spending too much time in the universe of my new book series, FRAMES?
3) Are these faces cool, or creepy, or c), both of the above?
The WP Weekly Photo Challenge topic? Containers.
Let’s face it, erosion is inevitable. In the pictures below, what you will see was once a sea wall, that is, a futile attempt to keep sand where we humans think it should stay. The ocean moved the sand, as it always does; and the ocean removed pieces of the wall, one chemically weathered molecule at a time. The result is a relic that charges my imagination every time I visit its beach, in Santa Barbara, California.
The WP Weekly Photo Challenge topic was “Relic”.