Thundering.

In my experience of this region, thunderstorms are fairly uncommon, but today we had a massive front blow through. The underground lecture theatre in the brand-new conference building where I spent much of the day was leaking, eliciting jests and apologies from conference organizers and eminent speakers. I had to flout convention by tiptoeing over a lawn because the gravel paths I needed to traverse had become three-inch pools. It was dark and ferocious at noon.

Toward the end of the evening, I heard what I thought was the thunder starting up again. It turned out, instead, to be fireworks being let off over the Backs. From my own bedroom, I had the best seat in the house--though that did nothing to grant me instant knowledge of how to capture them for you. (Though I can analyze what I've done and see what I could/should have done differently--e.g., run downstairs for my tripod--I'm a bit of a fan of my random attempts, in any case. And though nothing would have eliminated the intervening building that forced my framing, obviously that building had nothing to do with my focusing fail.)

The moon I forgot to show you.

Friday night, when I climbed the stairs to my sleeping loft (I know!), there was the mid-July moon, just off full, coming up big and orange to the east, over town.  I clambered onto the window-side table and wished and wished for a longer lens, every time I snapped another picture.

Webbed.

Harvest.

There's something to be said for knowing one's own instincts well enough to trust them when they say, Go home for lunch.  Read about geology.  You'll be glad later for having had some breathing space at midday.  And there's something to be said for having gathered so many excellent people into one's life that a professional event can feel like a series of little reunions, one after another after another.

Devouring time.

Up close, the Chronophage is even more frightening than before.  Last night, I found myself before him once again, this time with a friend around whom I'm more comfortable taking my time for a better shot, and we waited the ten minutes before he reached 9:00--simply so that we could see him claim the remnants of the 8 o'clock hour.   The longer we stood there, the more it seemed to me that this gift was a dubious one to have given to a college populated mostly by undergraduates; while it is indeed true that time is always being eaten out from under us, I wonder what the effect would be of seeing such a representation of that fact day in and day out.  It strikes me as one of those rare objects--in one place's everyday life, anyway--that combines ingenuity and genuine, painstaken artistry and something like uncompromising ferocity, one that doesn't resolve easily (if at all) into beauty, much less comfort.  Staring at the Chronophage, I realize that I'm staring at an image of sheer relentlessness, and the more of its details I notice, the more in its thrall I find myself.  Were I to stare at his gold-veined eyes or his icepick teeth for too long, I might come to carry them before me everywhere.