Poplars | East Wenatchee, WA | 2010
I’ve a recurring dream of heavily-leafed poplars undulating in a warm wind. Foliage swirls, spreads, inhales, curls to a close, expands again. Like a grand undersea creature surrendering to its universe’s flow. Now I regularly pause in real life to read the sign language of trees. Wisdom, I think, is in their sway.
Spotty Shade | Chelan Falls, WA | 2010
Sunlight travels 93 million miles, weathers cosmic storms and asteroid belts, then penetrates about 300 miles of ever-thickening atmosphere before the solar stream is stopped cold — boink — by a puny leaf. Thus: Shade. Shouldn’t we be awestruck?
Water’s Edge | Crescent Bar, WA | 2011
Fat guys in Speedos, leather-skinned socialites puffing cigarettes, kids burying Dad in the sand — we’re all drawn to the waterline. We bravely dip our tootsies in the Other World, where creatures breathe fluid, navigate by starlight and, way down deep, glow in the dark. Amazingly, we were born there and (not so amazing) can’t keep from going back — each of us, together, finding meaning in the aqueous.
Winter Grove | East Wenatchee, WA | 2011
Stripped naked, the patterns and influences of our lives are revealed. How we moved, what we ate, who we loved, where we leaned-in for a closer look. Late in life, that guy we imagined as a vigorous explorer of a mysterious Earth is instead rooted and content to simply stretch in the sun. Bare facts can be hard to accept, but a good mirror doesn’t lie.
No Town | Near Rock Island, WA | 2011
More than 100 years ago planners laid down streets, alleys and key building sites for what would become the town of Columbia — at least on paper. Now this road to nowhere, veiled in spring rain or shimmery in summer heat, transports little more than grazing deer and my wandering imagination. I visit frequently, expecting to find a time rift or extra-dimensional portal. So far, it’s just an abandoned road … beckoning.
Truck Dog | East Wenatchee, WA | 2011
Some dogs cower in the bed of a pickup. Some yip frantically at passing vehicles. But this guy owned that shortbed. Calm, observant, even a bit regal, he patiently sat and waited while the traffic lights went through their interminable cycle. When the light at last turned green and the truck moved forward, the dog looked back at me and gave an upward chin nod. “There,” he seemed to say. “Job done.”
At Lunch | Wenatchee, WA | 2011
An underrated exercise in self-evaluation is the solo meal. No friends, no smartphone, no book or newspaper. In fact, no distracting data except that gathered by your own senses. Flavors, textures, aromas, emotions, memories, context — all produced or triggered by the burger or burrito you’re chewing. New meaning for “Happy Meal,” or not.
Lobby | Wenatchee, WA | 2011
Stand in the overheated front entry of this century-old hospital, now a senior home, and you can hear the thump-a-thump of a basement boiler or a passing truck or the building’s slowing heart. A statue’s glance directs visitors down a hallway where, on this day, residents have packed belongings for imminent departure.
Drifter | Baker Flats, WA | 2011
The cohesion of vapor into airy sculptures must puzzle even the smartest skywatchers. Barometric pressure, wind currents, surface tension, molecular bonds, a shade of gravity — all combine to shape cloud into everything from cotton puffs to stampeding giraffes. Sometimes, too, they blow across the sky with great purpose, seemingly determined to complete their mission.
Two Street Lights | Wenatchee, WA | 2011
Filling the truck’s tank at 7-Eleven, I stood watching an undulating sphere of pigeons circle overhead. How on earth — above earth — do they do that? Glide inches apart, turn on a dime in sync, and then scatter, power-flapping, at the hint of a hawk? At the movie theater last weekend, the concession girl asked us popcorn lovers to form two lines, one at each cash register. We failed miserably. As a group, we didn’t recognize what scientists call “spatial cognition movements” and what pigeons call “winging it.”
IrwinFoto 