3:30ish?
Peaceful Point, Lake Almanor
warm - 70's
strong wind
The loudest thing I hear is the great whir of the wind through the pines - much different than how wind sound rustling through leaves in the valley - then the steady slapping water gently on the rocks of the point, a boat motor in the distance nears, then passes the point, keeping clear of the buoys warning of shallows.
The grass is wiry and mostly yellowed, with some blades still clinging to green, and even the pines have yellowed a bit after the long, dry summer. I have to secure all my papers and loose photos, to prevent the steadily growing wind from stealing them away.
The sun goes behind a cloud for a moment and the whole sky seems to darken. The rocks on the shore are hard edged, not rounded, and I can see where one has been broken from the cycles of freezing and thawing. How many seasons did that feat take to accomplish? A few weedy plants poke up between the rock. One pretty little one looks like an ornamental strawberry - sort of.
Another has tiny outstretched leaves, yet another is almost a pale aqua, fuzzy and narrow leaved.
The sun has come out again and the rocks seem less ominous once again. I wander around the narrow peninsula and find an old bleached log on the grass like the bone of a long-dead tree - and wait for the sun & cloud to adjust to my liking - the light is constantly changing.
The light changes again, I move and try another shot. I've also discovered that the coater stick for my new film pack has dried out - it's plastic container was cracked and broken - so I have to return tot he car for the old one, from which I can eke out just enough fixative to save the instant prints. At least I will have the negs regardless.
I wander out to the tip of the peninsula and think I see a photo. I force it out. It doesn't work. Photos, like all art, should never be forced - I wander some more and force out another - I should have just quit while I was ahead.
I haven't seen many birds: earlier some kind of large fishing bird and then a turkey vulture overhead. Then three smaller birds floating on the water and diving a bit. I hear a couple calls over the surface of the lake but nothing clear and nothing up close.
There are tiny tiny clam shells scattered here and there, not more than half and inch across. I find myself missing the ocean and mourning the passing of summer.
