Art is everywhere.
In the woodshed.
This time in the garden shed. Shot as found.
This is wonderful. (Reblogged)
Between places, with time to spare, I parked along the shore. Here, winter dawn is unforgivably late, and Lake Washington was still the color of long-neglected silver. The waterfowl who slept on it were even darker, muddy shapes rising off the plate of water. But I was certain that I had to do nothing but watch and wait, and the sun would rise. So I did nothing, and the sun rose. Such a magic trick, how, if you wait for it, the world becomes clearer.
Soon those unchiseled mounds transformed into a concert of coots, with their white bills swaying like flashlights to music. Closer in, a couple of pairs of grebes popped up and down like Whack-a-Mole, too quick for my binoculars. The statues of Canada Geese, which I had suspected all along because of their massive darkness in the gloom, remained sturdy.
All of this a tableau. Peace…
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