Outside My Window
Maybe I'm starting to adjust to this digital camera. The color is different, there are other things that strike me as weird, but the experience is getting better. And I put in an order for the 17 - 55mm f2.8. G series lens they now make for the mother. A sign of insanity or acceptance. I thought it was "sanity" you accepted as in "accept the Lord" and "go with the flow". Maybe there's no real difference. You come to peace with your wacko inner being and you can sink into your pitiable little dreams without guilt or troubling introspection. On a Sunday. Here in Oakland.
A bit cheesy, don't you think?
It's a cheesy world without a lot of rewrite.
But it is Sunday, the sun is out, it's not too hot, which is cool, and I am thinking of venturing forth and returning home to finish this later with something more in the bucket than the photograph I took over breakfast.
Later. Nothing in the bucket, but a nice walk around the neighborhood, a visit to the bookstore where I purchased a copy of Lotte Jacobi Berlin New York. For someone who doesn't buy photography books I buy a lot of photography books. Some nice portraits. Never heard of the lady - born in 1896, died in 1990 - but she shot a couple of portraits in Weimar Germany I wouldn't mind having on my wall.
Later still. I looked out on the balcony this morning and noticed the twigs you see in the picture. And the egg shells. I've watched two ordinary city bred pigeons, the kind you imagine when somebody says "pigeons", come together on the rooftop of the building across from my balcony; billing and cooing, flying back and forth to the balcony above mine with twigs, obviously taking a gamble on building their nest somewhere on the floor above mine. This morning some scattered twigs and egg shells told the end of their story.
Not very cute, pigeons, but I wished them well enough when I saw them outside my window. Hard, finding a mate, making a nest, raising children.