It's nevertheless May, and, as I pointed out earlier, almost June. There was no full moon to be seen here this month. It was completely clouded over. The next day I was feeling sad--knowing the full moon had come and gone--and went to the Viewpoint to contemplate the full moon's passing. It was dusk. I saw some small creature moving across the grass along the edge of the path on the side of the path closer to the view. At first I thought it was a squirrel, but as it approached me, it became clear that it was a duck--a female mallard. She waddled along, snatching up bugs or grass--whatever a duck eats--every few paces. She came within about a foot of me, apparently not even noticing me, and then passed me. I kept as still as I could, except that I turned my head backwards so that I could continue watching her even though should moved behind my back. Suddenly she shot like a torpedo, out across the edge of the hillside at a somewhat downwards angle, quickly disappearing into the distance.
It's been a while since I last walked past the tree with a hollow. This is another photo I took in March. It's strange, but my mind is in March today.
I haven't mentioned the burl yet. The burl is a landmark within the two-park area. It's terrible, but I always mix up Orson Welles, Raymond Burr and Burl Ives.
Many humans go to the Viewpoint in the company of dogs. It can be hard to determine which member of the two species is leading the other on these outings.
Three musicians played while other people listened. You could hear the musicians from a block away if you listened. They played several numbers, none of which I had ever heard before, although I've listened to a lot of music. In the summer months, you'll often encounter musical performances at the Viewpoint.
Just down the hill a few paces and then across the street, on the corner, there's a bus stop. There's no shelter or anything; it's just a place where you can get on or off the #10 Capitol Hill.
Tree trunks are all different. The bark tells you not only what kind of tree you're looking at but also--if you manage to memorize the pattern--which specific tree you're looking at. When they say "his bark is worse than his bite," they usually aren't talking about a dog.
This image of a couple sitting on a bench at the Viewpoint shows the sort of arrangement of masses in space that makes the Viewpoint so interesting from the standpoint of perspective--both linear and atmospheric.
You get a good workout biking in Seattle. It's the hills. There was once a bike trail that ran through Interlaken Park, then around Capitol Hill, all the way to downtown Seattle. This was before there were as many roads as there are now. There was once, believe it or not, a sandwich shop in the park. More on this later.
These two photographers took a long series of photographs. Since I couldn't see the images on their viewfinder and couldn't always tell which way their lens was pointed--let alone what focal length or depth of field they'd selected--I can't say what, exactly, they were photographing. I'm always curious about what photographers are doing. I wish I could see the pictures they took, and I wish I knew why they took them.
You can tell a lot about the weather by how many boats you see on the bay. If there are a lot, then it's probably a warm, sunny day. Of course, you could probably figure this out in other ways, but it's always good to gather your information from a variety of sources.
There's no single reason people come to the Viewpoint. Some come to eat, some to sleep; some come for the view, and others seem to have no interest in it at all. There are a million reasons. A million is a thousand times a thousand.
I think this fledgling must have fallen from the nest where it was hatched--or maybe it fell during one of its early attempts at flying. It's a sad sight, but I realize it's a common occurence.
A wider shot shows the context of the mid-range shot of the same subject in yesterday's post. The bluebells actually run from up top, over the edge, across the path, and down to the bottom, crossing the path again after it has switched back and has just begun another bend--if that makes any sense.
Just a few months ago, on February 15, I photographed this same hillside when it was covered with snowdrops. What's interesting is the pattern of strips of a species stretching from top to bottom.
I'm was thinking this was some kind of buttercup but then discovered I was mistaken. It's Largeleaf Avens (Geum macrophyllum)--a native species in the rose family, unlike the buttercup, which is an exotic invasive.
Vanilla leaf (Achlys triphylla) grows in certain places in the parks below, but you won't find it just anywhere. You have to know where to look for it. The same can be said of many other things.
The blooming of the dogwood marks the shift from spring weather to summer. Today is a summer day, but May 1st--Opening Day--was a spring day, and my mind is still processing the many memorable images it yielded.
There was quite a lot of wind today. It felt like we were back in March. It was in mid-March that I came upon this mushroom. Some mushrooms are edible; others are not.