There is a trend towards over-pruning here- the vegetation tends to grow at such an alarming rate that it can easily overwhelm the infrastructure if left unchecked. Generally the alder and blackberry is targeted most, but it’s difficult to pick and choose with a 5′ square articulating deck Flail-Master mulcher.
3 13s this week, stoopid tired but hey Saturday is here 2 days early. I’ve been gearing up to migrate to win7 and listening to Jack Teagarden and Louis Armstrong, which sort of stuns technology-induced anxiety by giving it a reference outside of itself. But even after two pots of coffee I’m no closer to actually doing it.
My fidelity has been shrinking on some levels, and maybe expanding on others and as such I’m a little unbalanced in my habits and cautions of late. My outings now encircle the house, mostly on walks of less than 2 miles. I’m suddenly suspicious of the local. Powerlines, the bend of a marginal alder mimicking the road, and cozy destination squatting in the crook of a familiar road. Rain borders on introversion, like a personalized curse from some nightroaming hag offended in a dream. There is a domestic immediacy to all I want to photograph, like I’m shuffling though the landscape in inmate slippers, pinning butterflies in a ledger. My work hasn’t changed so much as gotten smaller. Maybe it’s just backlash, like a gear that has to overtravel before it can finally start going in the opposite direction.