Since I graduated from college I have come to consider myself as a writer and a photographer. Although I have always, well since I was 18, had a camera of consequence and have taken pictures…some of consequence. So I guess since I hated writing before I went back to college and that is the change in my life.
Sometimes at three in the morning my “3 o’clock muse” wakes me from my sleep and begs…no…demands that I put down what she is dictating to my brain. Now this is frustrating and I wish she would visit in the morning…somewhere around 10 o’clock would be just fine with me…but that is not the case.
Anyway she will not release me and let me return to sleep unless and until I have put her dictations into the computer. Sometimes these words pounded out on the keyboard at the dark side of the night…darkest hours just before dawn…make sense and are the start of a good column or sometimes they are nonsensical and seem they could be the beginning of a bad horror novel. However they come out and are written at least I can get back to sleep…but then dreams of what I have written infiltrate that slumber and I wonder if I ever left the computer at all.
Its 8 o’clock in the evening and the muse is pushing me to write about her…and it’s not even her scheduled time to pester me. This must be because I am exhausted, and for no other reason than I heard that summer is coming to an end…you heard me, summer is coming to an end.
Of course we will have some days of Indian Summer that will create a false sense of euphoria and good feelings of giddiness as we skip through the autumn leaves and take in the chill of a sparkling morning with the grass damp with dew and the sky bright and clear with a false promise of warmth later in the day. Don’t get me wrong I truly love the autumn, but it is followed by the dreadful chill of the damp rainy days of Oregon winter. Guess I am ready to be an Arizona snow bird.
I’m in a gloomy mood and am having trouble facing the fact that regardless how much I would like to be enjoying the deserts of Arizona, the beaches of Hawaii, or even another week being up to my ass in an alligator bog in the everglades, I’ll be spending my time here hiking it up to Mt. Ashland to take pictures of the beautiful snow or capturing trees that have shed their leaves because they have genetically chosen to grow below the snow line. The skeletons of Oak, Cottonwoods, Aspens, Maples, Elms and all those I don’t know the names of but appreciate the beauty of are x-rayed by the fog and create a captivating sight…worthy of an early morning walk bundled in six layers of wool and down.
So as I sit here in my somber mood I guess I could be the Polly Anna I have been in the past. Be glad that I have a warm home to spend the winter in, that I have a safe car to plow through the puddles that will be inevitably be around for months and break out the clothing that makes me look like the Michelin man each time I head to the snow or out into the inclement fog and drizzle where I have captured some of my most interesting photographs.
Yes aunt Polly…there is always something to be grateful about and happy about.