Saturday Morning

4-57


Daybreak. Egret. 4:57 & 4:59 am. June 27, 2020. 67° F. Humidity 81%. Wind: 2 mph. Gusts: 3 mph. Cloud Cover: 29%. Weed Avenue, Stamford, CT

33 thoughts on “Saturday Morning

  1. I want to release my hold on gravity to merge seamlessly into your photo.
    I want to float effortlessly on the calm waters.
    Sign soundlessly with each in and out breath of the egret.
    Breathe deeply in the liminal spaces between light and dark, day and night, cloud and sky.

    Thank you for this morning wonder and wander David.

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  2. I took a mini video at 05.35am this morning. Staying with friends. A short thunderstorm drumming on the roof window. I opened the door to the balcony and pushed on camera button. Eerie light, clouds, and birds singing their soft wake-up song. Wd have liked to send it to you for this magic post .

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  3. Such a lovely image! So, it’s your work, David, not your son’s! A family of artists…Yes, like a sentinel looking out over the horizon. That mysterious pink light (red sky in the morning) can indicate rain…and we need it here in NJ…maybe you do also in CT. All good, just wet.

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  4. These gorgeous images brought to mind a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow called ‘Daybreak.’

    A wind came up out of the sea,
    And said, “O mists, make room for me.”

    It hailed the ships, and cried, “Sail on,
    Ye mariners, the night is gone.”

    And hurried landward far away,
    Crying, “Awake! it is the day.”

    It said unto the forest, “Shout!
    Hang all your leafy banners out!”

    It touched the wood-bird’s folded wing,
    And said, “O bird, awake and sing.”

    And o’er the farms, “O chanticleer,
    Your clarion blow; the day is near.”

    It whispered to the fields of corn,
    “Bow down, and hail the coming morn.”

    It shouted through the belfry-tower,
    “Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour.”

    It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,
    And said, “Not yet! in quiet lie.”

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  5. Beautiful stillness Dave.:)

    ‘When everything that ticked – has stopped –
    And space stares – all around –
    Or Grisly frosts – first Autumn morns,
    Repeal the Beating Ground’ –

    It was not Death, for I stood up” by Emily Dickinson

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