Boulder

Day 105: I've only managed to walk the Bud Blancher Trail once this year to date, largely because I don't feel like hiking in the rain and we've had very few decent days in January. It seems like my schedule and weather work at odds with each other, invariably a commitment falling on the same day as sunshine. That said, this nice walking route nearly always turns up something of interest, whether it's fungi, lichens, frogs or even a lonesome boulder on the bank of the fishing pond in Smallwood Park. I like rocks with personality, and this old fellow seemed to be waiting for derby day and the hordes of young anglers who turn out for the event. For now, though, he has no one to keep him company except the strolling photographer who thanked him quietly for posing before leaving him to his private thoughts.

Longmire's Lonesome Boulder

Day 37: I don't think it takes too much imagination to see the glum face this boulder presents, but I have never yet seen anyone stop to give him a kindly word (other than me, of course). They walk or drive past, intent on getting to a meeting or luncheon at the Community Building or to set off on a hike to Eagle Peak, but never spare so much as a nod in his direction. Perhaps years of being ignored have soured his disposition; sitting there all lorn and lonesome, watching the river gallop along to exciting places and seeing humans come and go. I am an animist. I cannot ignore his plight, although my best efforts have not cheered him up one whit. Perpetual bad mood or not, he has one friend who enjoys seeing him.

Watch For Rolling Rock

Day 24: "So how was your day, dear?" Rain or not, I couldn't resist having a little fun with one of the rocks which came tumbling down the side of Mt. Wow last spring. Of course, I could have picked a drier day for the shoot and if I'd had spare clothes, I would have changed out of my fresh uniform, but sometimes you simply have to seize the moment of inspiration when it comes to you. Photographers are often required to make sacrifices for their art, and thus it was that I drove home with a wet behind and a muddy back for having laid in the puddle of runoff which had accumulated under my weighty subject. "Under" was the easy part; "out" was a bit of a challenge, and I might have been ahead if I'd followed my hat and gone straight through.