In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Shadowed.”
Thinking of our new photo theme, “Shadowed,” it can sometimes prompt a certain sense of apprehension, perhaps in cloaking some object or scene that has drawn our attention. Shadowing is almost like a physical presence as it physically moves with time across our view, dimming or perhaps obliterating color, causing us to almost lose some perception of depth in our field of view.
The first photo of a darkening, rocky coastline is of that sort. The second photo presenting a shaft of sunlight entering a room shows a shadowing effect that dramatizes boundary effects between light and darkness. In extreme light, color becomes washed out, and in extreme shadow any color is cloaked in darkness. Notice how in the transition area between light and darkness, color is at its richest in saturation.
And finally, to remove the solemnity of shadowing discussions, we have a possible crowd pleaser, the charming cat photograph, which few can grumble over (I hope). Here, my cat Tock creeps out of the obscuring shadows to “startle” his House Mate. (Alas, Tock is no longer with me; he disappeared months later I’m sad to say)>
We don’t have any skyscrapers or other soaring architectural gems along the northern California coast to give the viewer that soaring, angular view. However, there are a few other imposing angular views on a more human scale, which compliment the ingenuity and craftsmanship of the rustic ranchers who settled this coastline in the late nineteenth, early twentieth centuries.
The ranchers needed scattered water supply points, and in the early days there was little or no power generation available along the north coast. Ranchers typically used windmills to lift water from a well to a water storage tank built on top of a high, stiff-legged timber tower. Water flowed by gravity in metal piping, from the tank to watering troughs for cattle, sprinklers for the hay fields, and to the ranch house.
Here are a couple of photos of a redwood water tower, probably built more than 100 years ago. That means it would have had to survive the 1906 earthquake, which demolished a nearby masonry lighthouse. However, a timber structure is more tolerant of seismic motion. Notice the intricate framing design bracing the tower legs. It still looks quite sturdy from the ground, but I didn’t want to climb it to investigate further!
Looking out from the dark interior of an old building, through musty window panes, and onto a blazing finale of autumn plants. Life becomes more contemplative each year, and all the earlier years become refracted through the lens of this one more closing of a day.
Dia anseo isteach–God inside this house–an Irish blessing on entering a house.