Little Compton, RI

All photographs were taken with a Kodak Easy Share cx7525 camera and are unretouched. Except for cropping, the pictures have not been manipulated in any way.

Tiger Heart

Tiger Heart

In the tall grass
Ignoring the poison ivy
Thrusting boldly
From the surrounding greenery
A blaze of orange
Proud
Wild
And a little fierce

These happy flowers were growing alongside Round Pond Road in Little Compton, RI – a few here, a few there, unmindful of the profusion of poison ivy and roadside grasses that seemed determined to keep the Tiger Lilies contained. I adore bold, sassy flowers, blooms that thrive in the unlikeliest of places and share their cheerful disposition with passers-by.
~~~~~Echinacea Harvester

Echinacea Harvester

Little cousin
Flying sister
What kept you so long upon
This blossom?
Surely it was some marvelous scent
Or flavor
That captivated you so thoroughly
That I could photograph you
With impunity

I think everyone who sets out to photograph nature, to capture her in bits and pieces, little vignettes, has one of these shots – I’ve seen so many of them, they could fill a book. A bee on an Echinacea flower is about as Summery as it gets. Bees are a blessing, and their recent decline has been worrying. I was glad to see this one, so intent upon her flower that she never paid me any mind at all.
~~~~~Seaside Rose and Lady


Seaside Rose and Lady

Warm and pink-scented
With a touch of the sea
The breeze made her hiding place
Bob and sway
But she didn’t mind the motion
It was more the tourists
Interlopers
Who gave her pause

I used to walk along Round Pond Road when I was younger, all the way down to the sea. Little Compton is a small town in a small state, and for a girl in her teens, confused about the world and why people behaved as they did, there was something wonderful about the rosehips, so beautiful, so ordinary, growing along the road. I walked with friends, with my father’s mother, and alone, and just seeing this image beings me right back to the road, to the pebbles and stones under my feet, the hushing of the little waves rolling along the not-too-distant shore, the smell of sun on stone, sun on sand, sun on my skin, sun on the plants and the seaweed and the sea. I wanted a picture of one of the flowers, almost all of them faded or turned into the tomato-like rosehips. Not until I was home, looking through the photos, did I spy the lady, demure in her flower-bower. To this day, she brings a smile to my lips.