Soul Riot By Elena Corriero To truly see is to start to understand {{ posts|image:True }}...
Our local white-tailed deer (and geese) did not object to modeling for a short while. The kids loudly playing on the school playground did not seem to bother her (assuming she's a doe). "Seriously, can't you find your own grass?" "We'll let it slide for this time." The doe seemed curious, and not at all scared. She actually moved towards me. (And apparently, there's a relationship between the name…
A few days after his first session, I got a chance to have a second opportunity to photograph the Black Swallowtail. Apparently, butterflies will visit the same garden if they know they can find a favorite plant, like bee balm and coneflower, but honestly I would not be able to say if it was the same butterfly or a different one. This time, the swallowtail was fluttering his wings while feeding,…
The sunlight was already strong, and the white of the house was blinding. But I would not pass on the opportunity to try and photograph the large swallowtail that made her entrance around 10am or so. Initially I stayed at a distance to avoid scaring her off, and hoped that the zoom would give me enough detail. After a while, I started inching closer, hoping she would not mind. There are many…
A tale of discovery in my own backyard
How I managed to start (and finish) my very first portrait in clay
If I were the sea - I’d court the shore With gifts Of rounded stones I’d wash her feet With the froth Of breaking waves. If I were the sea - I’d embrace the shore With a crown Of heavy clouds I’d howl for her The song Of sunken ships And scatter her curls With a northerly wind.
OBX Expedition - April 22-27, 2025 1. Loading Up On Tuesday morning, our boats were lying on the grass at Shell Point, on Harkers Island. With mild concern, I looked at the two Ikea blue bags I had used to “measure” what my Cetus could carry, full to the brim with dry bags and other loose items - tent stakes, stove, water bottles. I had numbered all my dry bags and catalogued their content in the…
Like someone before me I once stood Where two roads diverged; But unlike him, I - without delay - I took the path With the softer grass Where fair butterflies Were fluttering the way. My feet tread light Through branching trails And not once I looked back, The old path soon forgotten For I was listening to the birds Humming springtime songs; I was looking for the silvan stream Burbling in the…
The grass grows emerald, uneven; Lustrous Until the uncertain light Recedes In the marsh, water pools Brown, thick with ashes and leaves; Yesterday’s rain wets the maples’ feet And cattails gently bow Where the oak lies Like a shallow desire, easily uprooted Chest split open — A fallen soldier Never buried But softly embraced.