The Alster // Hamburg, Germany

Leica Minizoom // 35 mm, 200 ISO

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Hamburg is a city defined by water, weaving between centuries old factories and centers of trade, churches and modern flats under a vast network of bridges that outnumber Venice and Amsterdam combined. The chief body of water in Hamburg is the Alster, a tributary of the river Elbe, forming two lakes in the center that give the city its identity, not necessarily by what the water adds, but by the space it takes and the land it leaves to man. Giving one the sense that from the Alster’s edge, one finally has the requisite distance to appreciate what’s in front of them, on the far side of the shore.

-JY

 

On the Adriatic Sea

The wind brings clouds that brush their muted grey across the sky and choppy caps of white in the reflecting sea. An Island of green lush trees bridges the gap between horizons, vivid in the haze.

Our apartment is far enough away from civilization to deem going anywhere unnecessary, so we read and write and watch the changing light play across the expanse outside our window. A shallow blue cargo ship rises and falls with the tide, moored stationery since morning.

Branches dance in the breeze outside our door, movement tempered by distance, perception. The boat is barely moving. On the island all is still. And beyond, only birds can break the spell.

— Dubrovnik, Croatia

Nebraska

Leica Mini-Zoom, B&W Ilford FP4 Plus 125

A dark house on an arbitrary plot of land on the plains of Nebraska sits silently as cars and trucks drive by in whirring monotonous drones of pistons pushing multi-colored cages inhabited by blank nodding faces unknown. Its black-lidded eaves droop over empty windows staring with dead eyes.

I’m walking along an aged fence stumbling through tussocks of bladed grass.

No cars stop to pull in the driveway to grind the relentless weeds beneath the wheel.

No dog is barking as I walk up unasked for.

Only the crunch of gravel meets my step as my eyes make contact with the clouds.

I line up the horizon in my viewfinder, press the square button that opens the shutter that gathers light and captures a moment as the streams of change flow steadily around it carrying only fragments of the photograph over time until this moment too is dissolved into the canyonlands of time.

-JY

 

Fog and snow in the Santiam

We reach an impasse in the failing light and choose a bend to pitch our tent and table above the foggy valley floor.

It’s nighttime now and with the icy logging roads behind us, I uncap the Old Crow to heat my stomach and blow life into the gasping fire against the rain and rivers of mist that flow through the hills and swallow us whole.

The flames begin to gather and grow hot against the frigid night, vaporizing raindrops back up to their other being, adding with our breath. We draw our chairs closer to the fire and talk. Bringing us back into our bubble, words straining at the darkness in electric fingers of light.

Night lasts long outside and by morning we are ready to return to warmth. Thankful for a presence with the calm.

–JY

the vision

Rain in a redgrey sky

It’s been hot here. And dry. Strange words in the Northwest.

But the Wet is never far away.

I’m drawn outside to the first patter of rain, the faint knocking of a long-missed friend, feeling the warm clammy drops of rain on skin.

The downspout begins to creak its metal-water warcry. Drip. Drops connecting, weeping together, a rivulet. A stream.

Green leaves unfurl beneath cloudy skies and the promise of a healthy soak.

I look at Gregory, the rescue lion turned guardian of my garden.

I found him sitting on the edge of a dumpster, one step away from an early grave. He’s actually a broken clock, but he fit nicely over the gap in my fence, thereby finding his new home and purpose.

I’m a little obsessed with gardening. The earthiness of it. The satisfaction of growing, sustaining, and mutually benefiting from each other’s attentions.

It’s a form of meditation on the present and a calming way to be productive after hectic hours spent working.

It’s not the act of traveling great distances. It’s a travel through time.

The Crystal Ballroom

human-shaped

shadows.

fading threads

of light.

A glow,

then gone.

—

 

 

Grey over Alsea Bay

Salt and seabirds early morning,

monolithic grey.

Looming, in the glowing shade.

 

(Leica mini-zoom | Kodak Ektar 100)

The Pacific Northwest

I’ve found myself boomeranged back to my beginning. Or nearly the beginning.

But it is only natural, I suppose, to prefer what you’re used to.

So, here I am in the Oregon Spring, breathing easy as the sun plays tag with the clouds.

What paths we choose.

For someone who loves nature and quiet as much as I, it may seem strange that I moved to New York City and left Oregon at the start of Fall, my favorite season and one that epitomizes the beauty of nature and quiet reflection for me.

But however strange it may seem, not every path we take will suit what we picture as our Selves, and it is on these paths that we get a better picture of who we are and who we can become. But my thoughts are scattered, so forgive me while I spend a few lines picking them up.

—–

It is raining today. The streets are loud and crowded with people hurrying from place to place, eyes bobbing up and down in answer to the siren’s call of their glowing phones. Vendors hawk food and fruit while behind them small clouds of street-born steam go drifting by from manhole to storm grate.

Firetrucks blare in the closing distance.

I’m on the street wearing flip-flops that splash the back of my legs with every step. I order coffee, black. I get coffee, tan.

I’m back inside staring out across the rooftop of the hospital next door. It, too, is pouring steam into the grey-brown evening. Big neon signs are peeking through the gloom with their red and white letters on a skyless skyline.

10,000 faces could be looking into my window, and yet I feel no eyes but the city’s.

My heart starts beating faster and my breathing gets shallow.

This city, in a lot of ways, is everything that I am not. But maybe it is because of that, that I am so enamored by it.