At The End Of The Day.

It had been a hot and sweaty day in the garden working away at clearing the drive of it's neglected weeds. Now as dusk was falling it was clear that night time was going to be the same. The temperature had barely fallen and the humidity seemed to be rising. I decided some night time photography would be a good idea and clearly being by the water would be the best option. Heck - I might even dip a toe.

A short drive later I closed the car door and walked the few yards to one of my favourite spots: The bridge at Belhaven. The air was still; the tide was on the way in and the fading light was spectacular in that way you only seem to see by the water lip. Dark shadows flitted by as the last birds or the first bats passed overhead.

A few moments set up the tripod and fixed the wide angle lens and I began to shoot. Light was almost gone so exposure times were much longer than normal to pull what was left of the light out of the sky.

I had an enjoyable time clicking away while the light slowly faded. I understand now why photographers call this ' The Golden Hour'

I hope you enjoy them.

Listening to:

The Sunday Posts 2013/ I must go down to the sea

I must go down to the sea again,
to the lonely sea and the sky;
I left my shoes and socks there -
I wonder if they're dry?       

Spike Milligan.
Photo by Alistair.

The Sunday Posts 2013/ Batty

The baby bat
Screamed out in fright,
'Turn on the dark,
I'm afraid of the light.'      

Shel Silverstein
Photo by Alistair.

The Sunday Posts 2013/The Past

The debt is paid,
The verdict said,
The Furies laid,
The plague is stayed,
All fortunes made;
Turn the key and bolt the door,
Sweet is death forevermore.
Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin,
Nor murdering hate, can enter in.
All is now secure and fast;
Not the gods can shake the Past;
Flies-to the adamantine door
Bolted down forevermore.
None can reenter there, -
No thief so politic,
No Satan with a royal trick
Steal in by window, chink or hole,
To bind or unbind, add what lacked
Insert a leaf, or forge a name,
New-face or finish what is packed,
Alter or mend eternal Fact.

Ralph Waldo Emerson
Photo by Alistair.

The Sunday Posts 2013/ One for Andy.

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,
But, he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn’t," but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one has done it";
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle it in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That "couldn’t be done," and you’ll do it.

Poem: Edgar A Guest