GOING WESTERN IN THE WEST INDIES
ECHOS OF VISIONS PAST
SIX CYLINDER BILLYGOAT
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GOING WESTERN IN THE WEST INDIES
ECHOS OF VISIONS PAST
SIX CYLINDER BILLYGOAT
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ALL WITH THE FUJI XT1 / 10-22 / 18MM F/2
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two sole filet | one shrimp scampi
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NORTH COUNTRY ı FOOTHILLS ı THE BUSH
Horses ease into their winter coats / Browns turn to chocolate / Dappled grey drifts to ghostly white / Ears are dwarfed by lengthening hair / Days are spent dozing broadside towards the sun's low rays—
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WHETHER IT BE FLUTTERING LEAVES / OR TEMPESTUOUS BURDEN / A TIME TO LET GO.
IN ALL HER QUIET BEAUTY AND MELLOW GLOW / A MELANCHOLY TIME / SO CHARMING TO THE EYE / OF ALL THE TIMES OF YEAR, I CHERISH HER ALONE
FALL
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Action with the X100s
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Fuji X100s
Occupying old homes in a hand-me-down neighborhood…on the fringe of the city…The Polish Triangle.
Simple two and three story wooden homes set in narrow lots enclosed by metal and wood fences.
The uniformed rows are broken at intersections by buildings housing a grocery store, saloon and maybe a drug store. One or two streets have businesses, combined homes and offices.
The interiors evoke the Old World, with holy pictures framed in gilt and polished wood.
The ethnic Roman Catholic church anchors it’s center.
"The old neighborhood isn't the old neighborhood any more. It's becoming standard people in the suburbs. There is a group of older Polish-Americans who are still living in the old neighborhood and it's not like it used to be, but they're pretending it is. It's not really like that any more. There is ethnicity developing on different levels in different ways."
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“ I started working here when I was 10, back in the 50’s. I used to carry laundry from the rooms to the basement all day long. That’s how I got these ” he snickered, as he flexed his muscles.
He walked over and wedged a sliding door open, making a loud groaning noise. The entire facade seemed to tremble at this disturbance.
Walking across the road, he brought me to another abandoned building.
“ Back in the 60’s - this used to be filled with people from all over. Used to come here by the busloads. They kept this town running ship shape ".
Faded linoleum floors, skeletons of electrical wires, peeling wallpaper and rooms filled with garbage. “ There used to be rooms full of people here…."
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He turned the truck around and pulled onto Shore Rd. Driving slowly, looking this way and that. Through a long bank of pine trees on the left, you could see the ocean.
There was no sign for the road, just take Shore Rd. for two miles until you come to a fork. Turn left onto a dirt path and follow it to the ocean.
The surrounding area has changed so much over the years. Huges houses, gift shops, fashionable restaurants and gourmet grocery stores. Some fisherman are still around, but back in the 70’s & 80’s many of them started catering to tourists, with their breakfast cruises, whale watches and such.
In the 50’s, out - of - towners started buying up plots of land around the marsh and flats, but no one ever built here so it felt like the long stretch of glorious trees and beach was all his.
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WHERE THE SHY CULTIVARS \ THE LILACS \ AND THE JOHNNY - JUMP - UP HUDDLE AND WHISPER OF A LONG \ LONG WINTER
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KBOS
VIRGIN SEABREEZE
BEYOND THE CURTAINS
HEY MON ....
BREATHE
SEA LEVEL
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FUJI XT1 XF 10-24
≈ Trembling in the wide white of frozen souls ≈
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FUJI X100S
FUJI XT1 XF 10-24
Next to the fountain in his courtyard there’s a giant alabaster statue of a placid-faced lady riding a dragon: Kuan Yin, the goddess of compassion. Bees loved to drink from the lotus-flower filled fountain. He often watched their golden bodies zoom across the street, below the tattered flags, then swoop down behind the temple’s red iron gates.
FUJI X100S
FUJI X100S | XT1 XF 10-24 COMBO
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FUJI XT1 XF 10-24 ~ XF 60MM
Wooden steps with no railing lead to a crescent-shaped beach to the left, a rocky coastline to the right. She runs across the hot sand to the edge of the water. The surf is a series of sinuous rolls, and when she closes her eyes, she can hear the spray. She prepares herself for the cold. Better than electroshock therapy.
Hands pointed, eyes shut, she is a bullet through the white surge.
He drives along a sandy road to the center of the beach community, too small to be called a village. There's a lobster pound and a general store. Carrying a life preserver, he makes his way down a gravel drive to the end of a wooden pier. There is the Boston Whaler.
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THE DAY BATHES IN THE HOURS
A THOUSAND VERSES OF LIGHT
BLUE BLOOD SKIES LAY ON THE QUIET OF THE ROCKS
GRATEFULLY ... THE WHOLE OF THE OCEAN
KNEADS OF THE PAST
UNHURRIED RUSTICITY
KNOCKS AND HAMMERS BY DAY ~ SOFT THE EVE MOON
MOUNTAINS MEET THE OCEAN
A MATTRESS STUFFED WITH DREAMS
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