Urban
in At Home, Golden Hour, Urban
It never takes long after the solstice to start noticing that the days are getting shorter. I think this is one of the things that contributes to late July feeling so nostalgic: you can feel the days slipping away, little by little. Even though we have at least two more months of summer weather, the optimism of June already feels like a distant memory, slipping away just like the daylight. Don't get me wrong; I savor this time of the year for this very reason. Not even the dead of winter can rival the wistful feeling of late July. And other kind of optimism is right around the corner in August--the kind that leads to the beginning of the new term and towards wonderful fall days and cooler weather. But July is too early to be the run-up to autumn, and can only be felt as the decay of summer.
It's been a while since I used the old Minolta MC 50mm, but it's much lighter than the Sigma so I took it on my walk today. As it's a lens from the 1970s, It's definitely not in the same league of quality, but something about the way it renders jives with the broken-down streets and alleys of Bloomfield.
I don't grudge a rainy Saturday if it's mild and quiet. Today was such a day, so after piano lessons I walked up toward Oakland, Schubert Impromptus still banging around in my head. One of my favorite things to see (and photograph) is untamed greenery on brick and stone. Even if its seeming improvisatory growth is meticulously planned (like a Schubert Impromptu), the effect is just as powerful. Secrets, things forgotten, little moments of the sublime, all pulling one further into oneself, inviting contemplation of our relationship to nature. These are the kinds of environments to ponder nineteenth-century philosophy, which I do quite a bit in my line of work. It's nice when now and then such ideas don't seem at all dated or outmoded, but alive and well in the flowers and vines that slowly creep over our walls.
