Sunday, October 31, 2010

A Halloween Children's Story

"The Green Ribbon"
 
Once there was a girl named Jenny.
She was like all the other girls,
Except for one thing.
She always wore a green ribbon
Around her neck.
There was a boy named Alfred
In her class.
Alfred liked Jenny,
And Jenny liked Alfred.
One day he asked her,
"Why do you wear that ribbon
All the time?"
"I cannot tell you," said Jenny.
But Alfred kep asking,
"Why do you wear it?"
And Jenny would say,
"It is not important."
Jenny and Alfred grew up
And fell in love.
One day they got married.
After the wedding,
Alfred said,
"Now that we're married,
"You must tell me
About the green ribbon."
"You still must wait,"
Said Jenny.
"I will tell you
When the right time comes."
Years passed.
Alfred and Jenny grew old.
One day Jenny became very sick.
The doctor told her
She was dying.
Jenny called Alfred to her side.
"Alfred," she said,
Now I can tell you
About the green ribbon.
Untie it,
And you will see
Why I could not tell you before."
Slowly and carefully,
Alfred untied the ribbon,
And Jenny's head fell off.
 
Have you read this story?
I would love to hear from you!
It's one of my favorites!
 
I read it to my children all the time!
 
 
If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Silence And Time

Mittineague Park. October 29, 2010. Photo by Bruce Barone.
See Under: Field Work

"A quick glance at (the photograph) and we might walk away, thinking it drab and over-regulated. A slower glance, and (the photograph) reveals an infinitude of subtle hues and shifting verticals. Its beauty, like so much we see, reveals itself only in time. Silence is making--friends--with--time. It does not fight it or waste it; it refuses to run after it. Silence floats free with time, letting the pattern of the moments unfold at its own pace. It is a way of becoming free, not only for the practical advantage of being able to see the beauty in what is gray, for example, but at a far deeper level. In silence we break the hold time has on us, and accept in practice that our true home is in eternity."
~Sister Wendy Beckett

Do you find Time to bathe in the Beauty of Silence? How? I would love to hear from you!

If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!

Friday, October 29, 2010

Four Birds

The Lower Mill Pond, Late October. Easthampton, Massachusetts. Photo by Bruce Barone.
Are not the colors of Autumn wonderful? I would love to hear from you!

If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Please Join Me For A Walk

This morning at the park down the street from our home:












"Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads."
~Henry David Thoreau

All photographs by Bruce Barone.


Did you enjoy your walk with me? I hope so and I would love to hear from you!

If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Wednesday in Massachusetts

In Autumn:

Mittineague Park, West Springfield, MA. October 27, 2010. Photo by Bruce Barone
See Under: Field Work.

Leaves on our Grass. Photo by Bruce Barone.
What does the landscape look like where you live?
I would love to hear from you!

If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!

Calling All Angels

I am working with a few photo labs across the country to prepare and produce prints and greeting cards for an upcoming Arts & Crafts Fair Susan and I are participating in at a church in Springfield, Massachusetts.

Susan will be selling her soaps. And I will be selling prints and cards of nature (landscapes, flowers, birds), documentary (religious statuary), portraits (Nadine). I will also be marketing my portrait and wedding photography services.

Here are a few images:





Santa Maria, Santa Teresa, Santa Anna, Santa Susannah
Santa Cecilia, Santa Copelia, Santa Domenica, Mary Angelica
Frater Achad, Frater Pietro, Julianus, Petronilla
Santa, Santos, Miroslaw, Vladimir
and all the rest

a man is placed upon the steps, a baby cries
and high above the church bells start to ring
and as the heaviness the body oh the heaviness settles in
somewhere you can hear a mother sing

then it's one foot then the other as you step out onto the road
how much weight? how much weight?
then it's how long? and how far?
and how many times before it's too late?

calling all angels
calling all angels
walk me through this one
don't leave me alone
calling all angels
calling all angels
we're cryin' and we're hurtin'
and we're not sure why...

and every day you gaze upon the sunset
with such love and intensity
it's almost...it's almost as if
if you could only crack the code
then you'd finally understand what this all means

but if you could...do you think you would
trade in all the pain and suffering?
ah, but then you'd miss
the beauty of the light upon this earth
and the sweetness of the leaving

calling all angels
calling all angels
walk me through this one
don't leave me alone
callin' all angels
callin' all angels
we're tryin'
we're hopin'
we're hurtin'
we're lovin'
we're cryin'
we're callin'
'cause we're not sure how this goes


Have you heard "Calling all Angels" before? I would love to hear from you!

If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Splendour in the Grass

What a difference a day makes; yesterday here.

Today below:

Mittineague Park, October 26, 2010. Photo by Bruce Barone.
See Under: Field Work.

A few lines from a favorite poem:


What though the radiance which was once so bright
          Be now for ever taken from my sight,
              Though nothing can bring back the hour
          Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
              We will grieve not, rather find
              Strength in what remains behind;
              In the primal sympathy
              Which having been must ever be;
              In the soothing thoughts that spring
              Out of human suffering;
              In the faith that looks through death,
          In years that bring the philosophic mind.
~William Wordsworth.
 ODE--INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD
 
Have you read this poem? What do you think of it?
I would love to hear from you! 
If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait  
photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more  
artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!
 
 

Monday, October 25, 2010

Monday Morning

A few minutes after 10:00. Light rain. But mild.

Mittineague Park, October 25, 2010. Photo by Bruce Barone.
See Under: Field Work

Where were you are 10:00 this morning? What did you see?
I would love to hear from you!

If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Time Stood Still

Saturday Afternoon, October 23, 2010








All photographs by Bruce Barone.

What did you do on Saturday afternoon? I would love to hear from you!

If you want distinctive nature, documentary or portrait photography--photography with soul that inspires you to live a more artful and beautiful life, please contact me. Thank You!

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Inspiration

Susan said, "Want to go to Osgood's with me?"

"Yes!" I said. "I love Osgood's."

See why:


OH, look! How cute!




OH, my! I think they need a visit from Mary Poppins to help organize this stuff!


Don't worry. He's not too scary!


But look who is across the aisle from him!


Please! No monkey business allowed in the store, sir!


Let's go down a different aisle.



So far, this is as close as I have gotten to Paris!


But wait! There's more!!!



Every guy wants to be a cowboy!


And what guy doesn't love flowers?!



Everywhere I looked I saw Beauty:




OH! Here comes Beauty--Susan! She wants me to go home and work on her website.


I would love to hear from you!

Friday, October 22, 2010

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

Self-Portrait at Kitchen Table with New Tablecloth. October 22, 2010
Here I am looking at a book Susan bought for me at a "tag sale." The author, Ida Bailey Allen, was once the editor of Good Housekeeping magazine. Publication date 1947.

Tonight I am cooking Thai food, not from "Food For Two," but from Keo's Thai Cuisine. I'll be posting the recipe soon over at Bruce's Kitchen.

Would you like to come over for dinner? What can Susan and I prepare for you?
I would love to hear from you!

Kicking The Leaves

I would like to share with you today one of my favorite poems. It is called "Kicking The Leaves." It is written by Donald Hall. It is a perfect poem for an October day. I hope you enjoy it!

Kicking the leaves, October, as we walk home together
from the game, in Ann Arbor,
on a day the color of soot, rain in the air;
I kick at the leaves of maples,
reds of seventy different shades, yellow
like old paper; and poplar leaves, fragile and pale;
and elm leaves, flags of a doomed race.
I kick at the leaves, making a sound I remember
as the leaves swirl upward from my boot,
and flutter; and I remember
Octobers walking to school in Connecticut,
wearing corduroy knockers that swished
with a sound like leaves; and a Sunday buying
a cup of cider at a roadside stand
on a dirt road in New Hampshire; and kicking the leaves,
autumn 1955 in Massachusetts, knowing
my father would die when the leaves were gone.
2
Each fall in New Hampshire, on the farm
where my mother grew up, a girl in the country,
my grandfather and grandmother
finished the autumn work, taking the last vegetables in
from the fields, canning, storing roots and apples
in the cellar under the kitchen. Then my grandfather
raked leaves against the house
as the final chore of autumn.
One November I drove up from college to see them.
We pulled big rakes, as we did when we hayed in summer, pulling the leaves against the granite foundations
around the house, on every side of the house,
and then, to keep them in place, we cut spruce boughs
and laid them across the leaves,
green on red, until the house
was tucked up, ready for snow
that would freeze the leaves in tight, like a stiff skirt.
Then we puffed through the shed door,
taking off boots and overcoats, slapping our hands,
and sat in the kitchen, rocking, and drank
black coffee my grandmother made,
three of us sitting together, silent, in gray November.
3
One Saturday when I was little, before the war,
my father came home at noon from his half day at the office
and wore his Bates sweater, black on red,
with the crossed hockey sticks on it, and raked beside me
in the back yard, and tumbled in the leaves with me,
laughing , and carried me, laughing, my hair full of leaves,
to the kitchen window
where my mother could see us, and smile, and motion
to set me down, afraid I would fall and be hurt.
4
Kicking the leaves today, as we walk home together
from the game, among the crowds of people
with their bright pennants, as many and bright as leaves,
my daughter’s hair is the red-yellow color
of birch leaves, and she is tall like a birch,
growing up, fifteen, growing older; and my son
flamboyant as maple, twenty,
visits from college, and walks ahead of us, his step
springing, impatient to travel
the woods of the earth. Now I watch them
from a pile of leaves beside this clapboard house
in Ann Arbor, across from the school
where they learned to read,
as their shapes grow small with distance, waving,
and I know that I
diminish, not them, as I go first
into the leaves, taking
the way they will follow, Octobers and years from now.
5
This year the poems came back, when the leaves fell.
Kicking the leaves, I heard the leaves tell stories,
remembering and therefore looking ahead, and building
the house of dying. I looked up into the maples
and found them, the vowels of bright desire.
I thought they had gone forever
while the bird sang I love you, I love you
and shook its black head
from side to side, and its red eye with no lid,
through years of winter, cold
as the taste of chickenwire, the music of cinderblock.
6
Kicking the leaves, I uncover the lids of graves.
My grandfather died at seventy-seven., in March
when the sap was running, and I remember my father
twenty years ago,
coughing himself to death at fifty-two in the house
in the suburbs. Oh how we flung
leaves in the air! How they tumbled and fluttered around us,
like slowly cascading water, when we walked together
in Hamden, before the war, when Johnson’s Pond
had not surrendered to houses, the two of us
hand in hand, and in the wet air the smell of leaves
burning:
in six years I will be fifty-two.
7
Now in fall, I leap and fall
to feel the leaves crush under my body, to feel my body
buoyant in the ocean of leaves, the night of them,
night heaving with death and leaves, rocking like the ocean.
Oh this delicious falling into the arms of leaves,
into the soft laps of leaves!
Face down, I swim into the leaves, feathery,
breathing the acrid odor of maple, swooping
in long glides to the bottom of October —
where the farm lies curled against the winter, and soup steams
its breath of onion and carrot
onto damp curtains and windows; and past the windows
I see the tall bare maple trunks and branches, the oak
with its few brown weathery remnant leaves,
and the spruce trees, holding their green.
Now I leap and fall, exultant, recovering
from death, on account of death, in accord with the dead,
the smell and taste of leaves again,
and the pleasure, the only long pleasure, of taking a place
in the story of leaves.

Self Portrait, Kicking The Leaves.
 Did you enjoy reading the poem? I would love to hear from you!!!