Ingela Bohm's Blog, page 33

From the perspective of plants

In my photography, I tend to seek the perspective of the thing I’m photographing – more often than not, plants of different kinds. Or, you know, living organisms.

That is, how does this cone “see the world”? I know it hasn’t got eyes, but it lies there on the ground, and that defines its relation to the world. That’s where the light hits it, and that’s where it rests on a dead, lichen-covered twig.

Or this mushroom. From a human perspective, it hardly even exists, because it’s so small and so camouflaged by its bland beige colour. But from its own perspective, it’s at the centre of the world, and at this precise moment, the sun hits it straight in the “face”.

Last night when I lay crawling in the dirt to snap these pictures, it dawned on me that this is what I always do in the rest of my life as well. When someone I know picks up a book I’ve written, I need to skim through at least certain chapters just to see how they might read it – I read with their glasses on, so to speak. From their perspective.

And what’s worse, in discussions and arguments, I’m so prone to taking in what my opponent means that I lose sight of my own opinions. I’m caught off guard by the conviction with which they contradict me – as if blinded by their stronger aura.

And this is the only reason I’m dreading the defense of my dissertation. I know what I’ve done, I know the strengths and weaknesses in my studies, and I can reason around it in a fairly intelligent way. But if my opponent says something really smart and challenging (and she will, because she’s the smartest and most challenging person I’ve ever met), I might clam up. I might forget the whole point of my dissertation. I might even forget my own name.

And so I’ll babble instead. And sweat.

A bridge to autumn

Drained of clorophyll and pelted by the rain, they lie beneath our feet like gold coins showing the way into a new season.

This tiny plant looked like a bird taking wing.

The moss really is coming into its own now. When the flowers have withered, we see the unassuming background, and it’s quite as beautiful as any rose.

These fungi looked like they were arranged to form a small fountain.

Summer is hanging on by a thread – of beard lichen!

And because I can’t help myself, another picture of redcurrants.

Berries and stars

An unexpected side effect of both my photography and, weirdly, my back trouble, is that I’m learning to appreciate Moments. You know, the small but good stuff that makes up your life. Chasing subjects makes me alert to beautiful things, and not only visually. When I smell something lovely, like yellowing leaves or rain-drenched birches, I reach for my camera – and then realize that I can’t take a picture of it.

Other things are beautiful but not pleasing to the other senses. Or so I thought. I’ve never been much for redcurrants, but I’ve been snapping so many pictures of them this summer that I just had to sort of complete the image and eat a bowlful with kefir, delicious Russian yoghurt. Well, they were great!

 

Also, it’s a minor miracle that I could pose like this with my crappy back. It’s been slightly better since my visit with the miracle worker, but full recovery is probably months away. No matter – having these moments of non-pain makes me grateful, and I feel like some disk space is freed up to notice the balmy morning air, or the sun that flits in and out of clouds.

Another thing to be grateful for: mushrooms! The boletus looks like newly baked bread.

Future uncertain but bright

Finally.

This morning was misty but bright, and I was nervous because I was headed for yet another disappointing first-meeting-with-the-medical-profession.

But soft – what light through yonder window breaks?

This woman was a miracle worker, and an oracle to boot. She told me exactly everything that was wrong with my back (not a short list after 40 years on this Earth), and as she talked, I realized that I’d heard something similar – from my school nurse, when I was thirteen.

Of course, when that nurse discovered my problems, she immediately began treatment or at least referred me to someone who could do it.

Hahaha. Now, that would require the system to work, wouldn’t it?

She just said I was crooked and then let me go.

And so, almost thirty years later, I have prickles in my arms and hands, inflammations in my neck and shoulders, two steel bars running down my back to hold me up, and aches and pains in my hips and lower back.

Enter the miracle worker again. She kneaded and pulled and jostled me this way and that, and then gave me specific exercices to do until next time. “But wait,” I said as the clock raced towards the end of the appointment, “There’s this stretching exercice I was told to do and it hurts like hell and afterwards I feel all wobbly and weird,” and I got down on my knees and showed her…

And there was almost no pain at all.

I don’t often say ‘Halleluiah’, but today might just merit that kind of hyperbole. Fingers super crossed that this will actually work!

Blushing nature

First day of what I guess is the first ‘autumn month’. It didn’t feel like it, because it was seriously warm and sunny – I almost regretted wearing trousers – but now and again, a flash of red caught my eye in a ditch or a shrubbery, and I knew that yes, autumn really is approaching.

The willow herb is among the first to greet the new season. Its leaves turn a red that’s sometimes hard to believe is real.

Each leaf, in its own time.

I love how they curl at the edges, as if snuggling into themselves to sleep.

Some seeds are still clinging to the stem, afraid of where they’ll end up if they allow the wind to bear them away.

 

Man with a dog

 

Messages of fall

Summer isn’t quite over yet, but autumn is sort of sending its scouts out. Like the odd leafy plant turning a gorgeous red colour.

Others turn greenish yellow. Just the odd branch here and there, like a memento mori for trees.

In the rain, the colour of the tree trunks becomes so vivid. Like they’re more there than usual. Here seen against a ‘dead ice tarn’ – a pond left behind by the retreating ice age. And yes, the colour of the water really is that bluish green.

A perfect toadstool. We didn’t eat this one, of course, but we did find several kilos of sheep polypore and boletus that we’ve been gorging ourselves on for a week!

ANd for someone who loves mist and fog, I’m now getting my fill.

Finally, the willow herb has reached the end of its blooming period, and is now releasing its seeds for next year. Yesterday, the air was filled with them, just sailing around on the wind, gleaming in the sunshine. I think they deserve several pictures!

Morning dew

The other day, I got up at 4.30 to photograph the sunrise. Ha ha. This was what I found.

At first, I was disappointed, but then I started to discover all the byproducts of that thick fog: millions upon millions of dewdrops on tiny spider webs that are usually invisible!

It was gorgeous!

Everything was covered in minute droplets – everything.

At first, I thought this flower was covered in frost, but it was water, clinging to each and every fine frond.

Close up, it looks like pearls.

Ant to think that these webs are there all the time, and we have no idea!

 

Evening glow (again!)

I’m running out of headings! It’s all pink and glow, evening light, mist and summer. *happy sigh* Welcome troubles, all considered.

But maybe in a few weeks, the colours and moods will start changing, when autumn starts creeping up on us. I can already feel the cool breath of it snaking through the trees. We no longer have that heavy heat of July, that just seems to weigh everything down with contentment and laziness. Instead there’s a fresh tang that tells you it’s time to get things done!

But it’s still summer, and the world is still a golden place. Yesterday, I chased the setting sun all over the landscape, and for once, I managed to catch a few mosquitoes as well! You can see them dancing above the grass, little motes of glittery dust in the sunlight.

I can’t get enough of these backlit things. It’s as if that halo surrounding them makes them more real and more ethereal at the same time!

Everything comes to life in the evening light. During the day, there’s just the woods, but when the sun sets, they turn into individual trees.

A tangle of gold.

A few minutes after sunset. The gold has turned to pink.

I’m not sure what that pine tree wants with the moon!

Another glorious morning

This morning I got up at four again to capture the dawn. There was frost in the grass and I was woefully unprepared in my summer sandals, but I had foresight enough to bring mittens, which were a lifesaver. I stayed out for two hours, and I’ve been cold and shivery all day, but Lord it was worth it!