I grew up in north Florida where 90 degree doglegs in the two lanes of U.S. Highway 301 in Island Grove slowed southbound travelers for their first view of orange trees.

Sitting opposite each other in the brief pass through the small town was a fruit packing house where laborers filled wooden crates with navel and temple oranges for shipping, and a gift shop where travelers could buy fruit from the packing house, Coca-Cola for a nickel from an ice cold, water-filled cooler, roasted and boiled peanuts, and orange-shaped trinkets manufactured in Japan. [ More ]

Four lanes of traffic. Four police cars. One President. One big headache.

There’s no joy sitting in five o’clock traffic, diverted from the
fast eight-lane highway to heading east on a northbound highway, slowly
passing places you’ve never been and won’t ever see any closer than the
seat of a 2,000 pound metal and plastic container, narrowing the social
distance of highway travel from high speed and car lengths to brake
lights and radio traffic reports describing your location. [ More ]

Remember the childhood joy of standing in an open space at dusk
throwing objects into the air and watching as bats swiftly swooped
across the open sky above your head sounding and identifying the rock,
acorn, or stick now falling back to the ground?
[ More ]

Often when people discover I’m a photographer they remark how exciting it must be to have a professional photographer in the house every day to take pictures of the children and our family life. Either my wife or I, sometimes both, positively acknowledge their expository supposition and detail the number of photo albums, cardboard boxes, and thrift store suitcases we have, all filled with prints and negatives of our family. I now have to add how many external hard drives, CDs, and DVDs I have in storage for the digital images added to the collection in the last ten years. [ More ]

Last summer I violated one of the cardinal rules of photography. I
didn’t take as many photos as I should have. If I had followed my muse
and done so the collection would have been called "The Summer of
Clouds." [ More ]

Last summer I violated one of the cardinal rules of photography. I didn’t take as many photos as I should have. If I had followed my muse and done so the collection would have been called "The Summer of Clouds."

I’m now trying to play catch up by including more cloud formations when they can contribute to the content of ordinary moments. This image is one of those photos.

The sign at the edge of the boat ramps at Hoover Reservoir forbids fishing from the boat docks. So much for rules for this angler settled in for a Sunday afternoon of piscary efforts under a warm September cloud scattered sky .

His minor infraction alone is barely worthy of a photo. Add the sky, a graded neutral density filter and a shaft of light across the dock. Now the scene is more to my liking. However, I still broke the rules. The angler is toward the center of the frame, a violation of the rule of thirds or several other compositional requirements. Fortunately, the composition works with balancing graphical elements and the oblique line of the dock.

Just another football Saturday at Ohio Stadium.

Not exactly. It’s Penn State, Joe Paterno, movement to a perfect season and another national championship.