Mid-day. Humid. The air was thick, thick with traffic sounds and water aching to fall but suspended. Sunlight hovered over this, musty, misty. You could taste the heat. Walking along the Charles River Basin again, but slowly, letting the heat set the pace. Walking past the dock, usually sitting alone in the water. But now, it is surrounded by row boats and canoes, painted metal, utilitarian, not pretty, little of the spirit of the sea, at least to my untutored eye. As the wind blows, they bounced and settle and bounce again. There is little here to hold me. Or so it seems.
Or so it seems until I begin to look in smaller doses. That's what framing does for me, eliminates extraneous elements, let's me look so I can see. And indeed, there's much to see once I get the hang of it.
Like the texture on the dock itself, although I've seen that before and always enjoyed it. But what was new was the boats themselves. Aluminium craft and yet the aging paint shows signs of habitation. And the colors, so seemingly random, bounce off one another and highlight what must be individual approaches to what a boat should look like.
So after walking here in the heat as part of my newly re-discovered discipline to shot (or rather to look for new ways to engage my world and revel in its beauty), here I come, back to color, texture, and moving boats on rippled water. It was worth the effort.