Penning Photography Daily

No swimming, and no walking on the ice of this pond either.

It was a frosty morning for a walk in Lincoln Park in Springfield, Illinois. All surfaces that hadn’t yet been touched by the sun’s warmth were sparkling with frost. As I walked around the perimeter of the park, I had to move from the roadway path to the grass on occasion. The black-ice effect was making my footing unsure on those frost-laden spots. No problem on the grass, I made it around in a vertical fashion, with no sudden prone splats.

The small pond or lagoon here, had a very rough surface. From fallen leaves, or stones and sticks thrown, by local children trying to crack the icy crust no doubt, the ice was dimpled and spotted. The sun caught all the small rough spots and had them glistening in reflected light.

Here, I framed the scene to include part of the no swimming sign. I wanted to get the sparkle of the sun, the long shadows of early morning light and that rough ice surface.

Gives me the chills just looking at it.

Once more the sun sets, giving us hope for another sunrise.

I stayed through the sunset, into what I thought was the last of the light show, but on by those long rays of light that peak from beneath the horizon and light up the sky after sunset. I left, and later looked once more at the horizon only to see an even more spectacular show of deep reds in the wispy clouds hanging like banners above the sky.

I hope to increase my sunset count, hoping for another chance for a sunset spectacle.

There’s always hope for tomorrow.

Even in mid-winter, this is a beautiful spot for reflection.

This is the Lincoln Council Ring, part of the Lincoln Memorial Garden which is preserved on Lake Springfield in Abraham Lincoln’s hometown of Springfield, Illinois.

It happens to also be the place where our son Chris exchanged wedding vows with is beloved Jennie. That was five years ago this coming May, when the trees were in full and resplendent green leaf. You can imagine the ring filled with family and friends, sitting on the stone wall, or in chairs, or standing around the circle. With the lake for a backdrop, it was a fine looking venue.

Many other weddings have taken place here, likely other gatherings of folk, drawn to the beauty and history of the place. There’s likely to be many memories embedded in the stones, acting as silent witnesses for those gathered.

The temperature was at freezing, but the wind was nearly still. It made for good walking weather, along the paths in the garden.

As I made my way to my car, the first flakes of a light dusting of snow that eventually turned to sleet, then rain, started falling. I’m glad it held off while I was enjoying my winter traipse down memory lane.

The sun was out, the wind wasn’t at gale force, and I was ready to take a walk.

My errands had me out near Southwind Park, one of the Springfield Park District’s newest parks. It is designed to be completely accessible, with no barriers for any of us that have difficulty navigating stairs and other obstacles.

At one point, I sat on a bench that had a ramp to an elevated platform, where someone in a wheelchair or a scooter, could be at the same level as someone on the bench. These equalizing spaces of rest dot the many paths that wind through the park.

The sky was majestic. Full of wind-blown white clouds against a clear blue background. The wetland preserving group of tall grasses and other plants was a nice counterpoint to that sky. I especially loved the cattails. They reminded me of the cattails that surrounded the pond that was on the land where I spent my youth, exploring nature.

The air was chilly, but I was warm from my walk, and from the sights of the park, and of the sky.

What I thought was a chameleon, turns out to be an anole, closer to an iquana than a chameleon or gecko, which many folk call this tree or shrub loving, sticky-footed, color changing animal.

Not a familiar name for a lizard.

We had just spotted the mama alligator with her three babies, out sunning in the backyards that line the swamp creek in Sea Pines Plantation on Hilton Head Island. Trying to get a closer look, we ventured into the trees that line this side of the creek, and one of us noticed this fellow, who appeared at first to be looking at the gators also.

Each of us had to try their hand at getting a closeup of the critter, as it alternately stayed frozen still and scampered about the tree limbs. This was my best grab, here showing the textured skin and distinctive spots along the tail.

When wandering about a nature preserve that includes a swamp, gators and magnificent and quite ancient tree growth, one never knows what will come up next.

I keep looking and wandering.

As the sun slowly settled into the horizon, it was painting everything that face it with a golden glow.

I noticed this tree, which has a smoother bark than the others that dotted the shoreline, was catching the gold and almost shimmering in the upper branches with that light.

My problem is that immediately to the left of the tree, there stood an outdoor outhouse, flush against the tree. To add to the space squeeze, immediately to the right is a large sign warning anglers about the different specie of fish and whether they should be kept or released.

What I did to solve that and get this image, is to compose with the crop in mind. Instead of a 3:2 ratio, I figured for a 4:5 ratio, which cut off the potty and the sign. I made sure that the tree and sun were in a good position in relation to each other, along with the sun’s reflection in the water.

It was cold out there, but this warms me up.

I went walking along the lake shore this evening, and was treated to the most delightful sunset.

The wind was not blowing too much, where I was, as was my fear when I went out. The temperature was near freezing, 32F, 0C. I had forgotten my hat but had my gloves. As time passed, I had to hang my camera from my neck (I usually carry it permanently in my right hand, with the neck strap wrapped around my wrist) and stick my gloved hands in my pockets. The chill was seeping into my fingers, and after about 45 minutes, I was starting to feel the pins and needles of them being too darn cold.

I used the large rocks that line the shore, put there to prevent erosion, as my focal point. The sun as a counter and the blue sky add a lush background. I love how the sun was making the rocks glow and shimmer.

When the sun was dipping below the horizon, I wished that I had been in several places at the same time. The light changes so rapidly at that time. I stayed for a while after sunset, outside at first. After I was in my car, the changing sunset kept tugging at me, so I rolled down my window and took just a few more. Ten minutes later, as I was heading west, I realized that I should have stayed even longer. The sky was lit up with the slight clouds turning a deep red like a slash across the sky. A reminder that the snow is never over. Even in the dark, the sky keeps up it’s entrancing show.

I’ll linger longer next time.