Thunder Moon
Moonrise
In 2006 I was still lugging around a few film cameras that could capture what my first little 2MP point-and-shoot digital could not. I’d been working with a number of local and larger land conservation groups for years and had a literal field day photographing and painting those beautiful areas as they recovered from industrial or other use, or were simply conserved as overgrown land that housed an ecosystem all their own.
Softened Layers
At the same time I was canoeing Chartiers Creek, sometimes for work but usually for fun, and from early morning until night I saw incredibly lovely scenes that I couldn’t catch in a moving canoe. I vowed to return some time to capture as many as I could in different areas.
Sentinels
I was familiar with Wingfield Pines as a large flood plain conservation area and also for its access to the creek, and I remembered at one evening event watching the moon rise over the ridge to the east, so when I got the idea to photograph the moon rising in summer using black and white film I chose that destination. Next full moon available was the Thunder Moon in July.
Mist in the Trees
Though it was a clear night, a mist rose with the moon. These were shot with film, and while I had my notes from a test session on a night with a partial moon, and from photographing the moon at other times, I knew the mist was a variable I couldn’t control, and I might possible end up with just a bunch of blur because the mist was moving across the open field, not hanging in the air like a fog.
Moonlight Through the Pines
When I got the photos back I was so disappointed at not being able to get the clarity I’d remembered in the moon and the surroundings that I put them away for a bit, then got them back out and decided I liked them for what they were. In fact, I find them quite magical. A few of them I like very much.
Path Across the Creek
And because a few of canoeing buddies didn’t want me wandering around on a full moon night in an isolated area alone, or walking in the creek with my camera gear and no one else around, they joined me.
Aliens
I truly need a better scanner, but since this is a “supermoon” month, I’ve decided to scan and share them anyway.
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For a print of any photo, visit “purchasing” for availability and terms.
All images in this post are copyright © Bernadette E. Kazmarski and may not be used without prior written permission.
Not Quite Full, Not Quite Empty
Not Quite Full, Not Quite Empty
The not-quite-full Beaver Moon shines through the not-quite-empty wild black cherry branches on an early November night.
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For a print of any photo, visit “purchasing” for availability and terms.
Thunder Moon
Moonrise
In 2006 I was still lugging around a few film cameras that could capture what my first little 2MP point-and-shoot digital could not. I’d been working with a number of local and larger land conservation groups for years and had a literal field day photographing and painting those beautiful areas as they recovered from industrial or other use, or were simply conserved as overgrown land that housed an ecosystem all their own.
Softened Layers
At the same time I was canoeing Chartiers Creek, sometimes for work but usually for fun, and from early morning until night I saw incredibly lovely scenes that I couldn’t catch in a moving canoe. I vowed to return some time to capture as many as I could in different areas.
Sentinels
I was familiar with Wingfield Pines as a large flood plain conservation area and also for its access to the creek, and I remembered at one evening event watching the moon rise over the ridge to the east, so when I got the idea to photograph the moon rising in summer using black and white film I chose that destination. Next full moon available was the Thunder Moon in July.
Mist in the Trees
Though it was a clear night, a mist rose with the moon. These were shot with film, and while I had my notes from a test session on a night with a partial moon, and from photographing the moon at other times, I knew the mist was a variable I couldn’t control, and I might possible end up with just a bunch of blur because the mist was moving across the open field, not hanging in the air like a fog.
Moonlight Through the Pines
When I got the photos back I was so disappointed at not being able to get the clarity I’d remembered in the moon and the surroundings that I put them away for a bit, then got them back out and decided I liked them for what they were. In fact, I find them quite magical. A few of them I like very much.
Path Across the Creek
And because a few of canoeing buddies didn’t want me wandering around on a full moon night in an isolated area alone, or walking in the creek with my camera gear and no one else around, they joined me.
Aliens
I truly need a better scanner, but since this is a “supermoon” month, I’ve decided to scan and share them anyway.
. . . . . . .
For a print of any photo, visit “purchasing” for availability and terms.
All images in this post are copyright © Bernadette E. Kazmarski and may not be used without prior written permission.
Full Wolf Moon
Wolf Moonrise
The winter sunset shades to deep pink in the east as the Wolf Moon rises over the hill, encircled by the branches of an oak tree.
The moon still looks a little hard-edged and flashed out, but at least I managed to get a little detail on it. Usually under these conditions the moon looks like a flashlight in the sky, just a hard bright circle, but it was moderated somewhat, perhaps by the branches in front of it.
And I finally caught that pink glow over the horizon fading to the faded turquoise of a winter sky in the east, opposite a sunset, on a clear, cold night.
. . . . . . .
I quickly shot this photo as I packed my camera equipment out of my car on my way to the paranormal investigation at Andrew Carnegie Free Library & Music Hall January 7, 2012. My family, especially my mother, had a strong tie to the place; in the houses you can see near the bottom of the photo, my mother was born and grew up in the one you can see the best, the yellow one.
. . . . . . .
A few months after I’d published this image, a conservation organization in California asked permission to use the image in their newsletter to accompany a poem by William Carlos Williams. Would I mind…
The Hills Conservation Network (HCN) of Oakland CA published one of my photos, “Wolf Moonrise”, in their latest newsletter.
The HCN was formed after the devastating 1991 East Bay Hills fire. In a state known for wildfires this was the worst one to date in 1991, killing 25 people and injuring 52 others, leaving some 10,000 people homeless by destroying 3,354 single-family homes and 456 apartment units. The group formed to help organize efforts in restoring the scarred land while preparing for other wildfires in a way that would mitigate future damage as much as possible.
They publish a quarterly newsletter, and in this case the Winter 2012 was “celebrating trees”. They would publish a poem by William Carlos Williams entitled Winter Trees and wanted my photo to illustrate.
No one has to twist my arm to have a photo published along with a poem by William Carlos Williams, and while I didn’t remember this particular poem once I read it I was in full agreement, especially at the lines: A liquid moon/moves gently among/the long branches.
I am also glad to help an organization whose mission I support, and those interested in carefully reforesting and restoring the land and preparing wisely for future actions.
Click here to read the newsletter; my photo and the poem are on page 3.
. . . . . . .
For a print of any photo, visit “purchasing” for availability and terms. For photos of lots of black cats and other cats—and even some birds as I first published this post there—visit The Creative Cat.
Wolf Moonrise
Wolf Moonrise
The winter sunset shades to deep pink in the east as the Wolf Moon rises over the hill, encircled by the branches of an oak tree.
The moon still looks a little hard-edged and flashed out, but at least I managed to get a little detail on it. Usually under these conditions the moon looks like a flashlight in the sky, just a hard bright circle, but it was moderated somewhat, perhaps by the branches in front of it.
And I finally caught that pink glow over the horizon fading to the faded turquoise of a winter sky in the east, opposite a sunset, on a clear, cold night.
. . . . . . .
Before I go on, I will add that I quickly shot this photo as I packed my camera equipment out of my car on my way to the paranormal investigation at Andrew Carnegie Free Library & Music Hall January 7, 2012. My family, especially my mother, had a strong tie to the place; in the houses you can see near the bottom of the photo, my mother was born and grew up in the one you can see the best, the yellow one.
. . . . . . .
A few months after I’d published this image, a conservation organization in California asked permission to use the image in their newsletter to accompany a poem by William Carlos Williams. Would I mind…
The Hills Conservation Network (HCN) of Oakland CA published one of my photos, “Wolf Moonrise”, in their latest newsletter.
The HCN was formed after the devastating 1991 East Bay Hills fire. In a state known for wildfires this was the worst one to date in 1991, killing 25 people and injuring 52 others, leaving some 10,000 people homeless by destroying 3,354 single-family homes and 456 apartment units. The group formed to help organize efforts in restoring the scarred land while preparing for other wildfires in a way that would mitigate future damage as much as possible.
They publish a quarterly newsletter, and in this case the Winter 2012 was “celebrating trees”. They would publish a poem by William Carlos Williams entitled Winter Trees and wanted my photo to illustrate.
No one has to twist my arm to have a photo published along with a poem by William Carlos Williams, and while I didn’t remember this particular poem once I read it I was in full agreement, especially at the lines: A liquid moon/moves gently among/the long branches.
I am also glad to help an organization whose mission I support, and those interested in carefully reforesting and restoring the land and preparing wisely for future actions.
Click here to read the newsletter; my photo and the poem are on page 3.
Click here to see the original entry for “Wolf Moonrise” on my daily image blog Today.
Moonrise, 2010
Moonrise
The moon as it comes toward full rises earlier and earlier. Here it just appeared over a grove of sycamores just as the sun was setting, still, silent, waiting.
“Wolf Moonrise” Published in Conservation Newsletter
Wolf Moonrise
The Hills Conservation Network (HCN) of Oakland CA published one of my photos, “Wolf Moonrise”, in their latest newsletter.
The HCN was formed after the devastating 1991 East Bay Hills fire. In a state known for wildfires this was the worst one to date in 1991, killing 25 people and injuring 52 others, leaving some 10,000 people homeless by destroying 3,354 single-family homes and 456 apartment units. The group formed to help organize efforts in restoring the scarred land while preparing for other wildfires in a way that would mitigate future damage as much as possible.
They publish a quarterly newsletter, and in this case the Winter 2012 was “celebrating trees”. They would publish a poem by William Carlos Williams entitled Winter Trees and wanted my photo to illustrate.
No one has to twist my arm to have a photo published along with a poem by William Carlos Williams, and while I didn’t remember this particular poem once I read it I was in full agreement, especially at the lines: A liquid moon/moves gently among/the long branches.
I am also glad to help an organization whose mission I support, and those interested in carefully reforesting and restoring the land and preparing wisely for future actions.
Click here to read the newsletter; my photo and the poem are on page 3.
Click here to see the original entry for “Wolf Moonrise” on my daily image blog Today.
Wolf Moonrise
Wolf Moonrise
The winter sunset shades to deep pink in the east as the Wolf Moon rises over the hill, encircled by the branches of an oak tree.
The moon still looks a little hard-edged and flashed out, but at least I managed to get a little detail on it. Usually under these conditions the moon looks like a flashlight in the sky, just a hard bright circle, but it was moderated somewhat, perhaps by the branches in front of it.
And I finally caught that pink glow over the horizon fading to the faded turquoise of a winter sky in the east, opposite a sunset, on a clear, cold night.
Moonrise With Clouds
Thunder Moon Clouds
What else do you call this? I have so many moonrises…
Last night as I photographed the full moon I had to wait for it to rise above the wispy clouds just above the horizon. The blue of the sky and cream-pink of the clouds was so delicate I decided to try a few photographs.
This is a challenge, but not impossible, for two reasons. First, the moon and clouds are actually moving, and quite quickly though it’s hard to detect because they are so far away, but it’s enough to make the clouds, especially, appear hazy or blurry. Second, the moon is technically as bright as the sun, especially the full moon simply because it’s full, and the contrast of that brightness with the background usually doesn’t enable you to catch both elements. In this case, I shot at a higher shutter speed with a polarizing filter—just an educated guess, dim the bright light while the shutter catches less of the cloud movement—then brought it into PhotoShop to bring out the midrange tones, even slightly adjusting the moon itself separetely. The colors aren’t as accurate as I’d like, but it’s step 1 in this process. Next time I try HDR, letting my camera take three bracketed shots and then letting PhotoShop combine them to their best effect.
Today 