Glimmerings

I've been taking a short break. I'm totally disheartened by the news, local, Canada-wide, and international. The spread of Covid and long Covid, so-called truckers' convoys aiming at bringing down the government (one starting from my town), ongoing climate change, and threatened wars, with very few glimmerings of light to be seen.

It would be nice to be a trapdoor spider. Dig a hole, line it with silk, make a door and pull it tight shut. Not possible. Even trapdoor spiders have to live in this world.

Maybe the opposite tactic would work. Open eyes, look at sea and sky and light.

Ahhh!

And tomorrow sunrise is at 7:35 AM. Glimmerings of light.

A Skywatch post.

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He estado descansando un poco, dejando el blog por unos dias. Estoy tan desanimada por las noticias, tanto locales como en todo Canadá, e internacionales. El Covid, su aumento y el Covid-largo, las llamadas protestas de camioneros tratando de tumbar el gobierno (un convoy hasta salió de mi pueblo), el cambio climático que no deja de aumentar, la amenaza de guerra internacional ... Y no se ven muchas chispas de luz en todo eso.

Quisiera ser, tal vez, una araña terafosa: hacerme un hoyo, forrarlo de seda, construir una puerta y cerrarla contra el mundo. No es posible. Hasta las arañas tienen que vivir en este mundo.

O mejor, tomo el sendero opuesto: abrir los ojos y mirar el cielo, las nubes, el mar, la luz que ilumina todo.

Foto: cielo y mar y en la distancia, mi pequeña ciudad.

Y mañana, el sol aparece a las 7:35. ¡Más luz!

Oh, so blue!

When I set my photo processing program to the sunlight setting, it adds a yellow or reddish tinge to everything. Why, then, when the sun shines brightly, are we surrounded by blue?

Taking the dog for a paddle. Saratoga Beach

I switch back to "as shot". Sea and sky play with blue. The reds and yellows can stay on dry land.

Bare rock mini-islet somewhere out in the channel.

The sun sends us white light, a blend of wavelengths, visible and invisible (to our eyes; birds and bugs see things we can't.) The gas molecules in the atmosphere ignore the long wavelength rays, like red and yellow, letting them pass by on their way to land, and grab onto the blues and bounce them all over the sky. So we see the blue everywhere when we look at the sky.

Just before sunset, last February.

Near the horizon the light has travelled further to reach us, and some of the blue has been scattered off in other directions, so the sky looks paler. At sunset, pollutants and salt crystals (over the ocean) filter out even more of the blue.

Quadra Island lighthouse, July. The mountains in the distance are blue, too.

I always thought the sea just reflected the sky. Or vice-versa, maybe. I was wrong. The sea processes light differently. The water absorbs the warmer colours, and rejects the blue, bouncing it back into our eyes.

Rainy day over Tyee Spit. What little warmth arrived in the light that has percolated through the clouds highlights the dry grass.

The evergreens that cover our hills produce aromatic terpenes that form small particles in the atmosphere, and these also scatter blue light, seen better from a distance. (Up close, the trees are green.)

Saratoga Beach, with distant kayakers. Blue sky, blue mountains, blue water. Red kayaks.

Kite, over Tyee Spit last week. Looking almost straight up, the sky becomes deep, deep blue.

Something to ponder: when I look at the water, from the docks, for example, it is usually blue or blue-silver. But if I'm looking straight down into the water, it is often a deep green. Why is that?

A helpful article on this topic is "Why is the Sky Blue?" by Philip Gibbs. Also, see a briefer explanation on Scientific American.

A Skywatch post.

Salmon bits

A bucketload of salmon bits, to dump in the chuck, starting a frenzy of screeching, wheeling, flapping gulls.

"Soup's on!"

I was coming up from the beach, facing into the setting sun, half-blinded, when the racket started. I liked the way the light shines through the edges of the gulls' wings and tail feathers.

A Skywatch post.

Morning light

9 more days. I'm sure I'm ready to go, but at the same time, I'm totally sure I've forgotten something essential. I can somehow manage to believe two opposite things at the same time, but I'm chewing my nails over it.

Remembering an early morning at the rest area looking over Pinto Lake in the Chilcotin calms me. The whispering silence! The air; pine-scented, fresh and clean, with just a hint, a remembrance of road dust! The slight chill in the shadows, and the gentle warmth of the early sun! The road ahead, the road back; been there, going to go there, and it will all be good! Ah!

Morning sunlight on birch

There will be more mornings like this. And sunny afternoons. And sunsets over Georgia Strait. Yes, the road ahead looks good.

9 more days and I'll be on the ferry.

Blazing farewell to 2010

The last day of 2010, the sun put on a show for us. At dawn, it set the clouds on fire:

7:56 AM. Sunrise is at 8:07.

In the early afternoon, we drove in to New Westminster to check out the plantings along the Quay. It was chilly, barely above freezing (it had gone down to -6 overnight) and the air was clear. It seemed like nothing was between us and the sun. And it was outdoing itself, making up for all those dull days last week; I had to dig out my darkest sunglasses. On the quay, what with the sun glaring at the glassy river, the big-windowed offices and hotels, and all the white railings, my camera rebelled. "Too much light!" it said, blinking madly at me. I closed down the aperture, sped it up to its maximum, forgot to reduce the ISO. The camera kept blinking. Any photos I took turned out mostly white.

Laurie's camera was a bit more co-operative, but not much.

There's always a way around difficulties. We could take advantage of those shining windows, and take photos of the view in the reflections:

In a dusty window, a "vintage" photo of the river and the Alex Fraser bridge.

Coming around a building, I happened to look right up at the sun. Even through my sunglasses, it blinded me for a while. But for that instant, I saw a rainbow-like halo around it. Ice crystals.
This photo, taken through a corner office window, shows the halo, as I had seen it.

Logs and barges on the far shore, and the glare off the water.

I found a shadowy window, and got a photo of the mountains, the Port Mann, and the Skytrain bridges.

Paddlewheeler.

Another solution was to zoom 'way in, take macros, which reduces the light entering the lens.

Miniature cotoneaster.

Moss

White ornamental cabbage. Looks better close-up than at normal distances.

Or find bits of shade and then zoom in:

Lichen on a black tree trunk. 

Pansy under a hedge.

I even tried taking a photo through my sunglasses:

Ornamental cabbages and kale.

Laurie took photos of the reflections underneath the promenade:

White railings and the blackness under the pilings.

On the way back, now close to sunset, the light was dimming, finally. And with our backs to the sun, we didn't even have to squint!

Viburnum. I love how it flowers at New Year's every year! No leaves, just the flowers and buds.

Unidentified tree that keeps its leaves, long and skinny and curly, all winter.

We went up to 6th and 6th for tea. It was a relief to drive into the dark basement parking lot. When we left, just before 5, night was falling. Beautiful blue night!

A Skywatch post.

Light from a quarter way up the sky

This time of year, the sun hangs low in the sky*, creating deep shadows, highlighting patterns and shapes we would have missed otherwise.

Alleyway, Beach Grove, Tsawwassen

Last flowers in the garden, Beach Grove

Drooping sunflower

Maple leaves, with bug holes. Richmond

Wheel and tap, Westham Island Farms

Mushrooms, Reifel Island

Yellow snail on a shady rock. Richmond

Big-leafed exotic. Crescent Beach.

Yes, this is the sun, through dark clouds, with hints of sunset pink. About 4 PM., from Kwomais Point rocks.

If I look at that sun for a half-minute or so, I can see (or so it seems) the clouds moving. Try it yourself; do you see it, too? (You may need to view it full-size; left-click it for a new tab.)

*About 23 degrees above the horizon, at 3 PM these days.

And a flood of Cheer and Loveliness spread ...

They promised us rain. We got snow. And more snow. It's snowing now, has been all night.

The snowman doesn't seem to mind.

I entertained myself inside, in the warmth, with a candle in an orangey glass and the camera.

This was all the lighting I needed.

I wandered around my darkened room with the candle, taking photos of small collectibles:

First, a self-portrait by candlelight.

An old, utilitarian tin with a pincushion lid.

Antique Japanese fabric, sandwiched between cardboard and glass, with a sewn-on cloth edging.

Reflection of the candle in a small table mirror that lost most of its silvering decades ago.

A rose Laurie cut for me, long ago.

"The toilet of good shoes." That's what it says. Meltonian White Cream tin.

"Just You and I" by Laurence Hawthorn. A Buzza Motto, 1927

This picture is one I inherited from my grandmother. I think she framed it herself; the backing is cut from advertising copy, an ad for the new-fangled electric lights.

I reproduce here the part my grandmother used:

"... into the Forest Haunts of Robin Hood. Now it leads us to this June Night in Provence, the land of the Troubadours. The Italian Wars were things of the past and men's minds so long burdened with horror now sought refuge in the pursuit of beauty. All the Arts gained a fresh impetus and artificial Light, heretofore strictly utilitarian, became recognized as a decorative factor, the stuff of which Beauty and Enchantment could be made.

What those far-away disciples of beauty dreamed has today become an established (real)ity. Gone are the messy, smoking lamps of that bygone age and in their place Science has produced the MAZDA lamp. More light than even our grandfathers thought possible is now concentrated in less space than their cumbersome, ineffectual lamps required and can be released and used for far less cost. The enchantment of light is now the heritage of all mankind: for the genius of Edison and the organized research signified by the mark MAZDA have not only produced light such as the fondest imagination never dreamed but they have placed it within the reach of even the most humble homes and the most limited incomes.

Beauty and Charm lie at your fingertips. Gloom and Glare, those twin enemies of artistic decoration, may be banished with a touch and a flood of Cheer and Loveliness spread ..."

No 7-second sound bites in those days! Unfortunately, this is where Grandma cut the paper.

The reverse has most of a 1926 calendar, and the header:

ENCHANTMENT
CANADIAN GENERAL ELECTRIC
COMPANY, LIMITED
Lamp Sales Department
TORONTO, Canada

The candle, again. The flame is reflected in the melted wax. I like that.

I just checked outside. It's still snowing, but it's very wet. Maybe ...
.