Tag Archives: photography

Seeking Clarity

Sometimes I feel like I can only see the world through smudged glasses, details obscured or invented to serve someone’s agenda rather than the greater good. Like walking in dense fog, you can only see what is immediately in front of you rather than any insights the big picture offers.

The classroom can be like that too. Vision blurred by the marine layer created by the chemistry in the room. It’s too easy to lose focus and only see the largest obstacles rather than picking out the beauty in the diversity of details that appear when you are able to shine light on them.

It’s report card time in my school district, a time that forces me to see past the marine layer as I consider the strengths and growth of each child in the room. It’s a reminder to look and listen carefully, to find the spaces and places where the sun turns the sky from gray and colorless to vibrant and so blue that possibilities are endless.

Today we decided to drive north to walk a beach we love, but don’t get to too often. We braved some crazy traffic (a parade was taking place a block off the main road, causing gridlock) as we hoped the heavy fog would burn off by the time we arrived at the beach.

It was noon when we arrived, later than we planned for. The sky was blue and bright with sun at the parking area. As we walked toward the beach, we walked into the fog. It was warmish (high 60s) and the tide was low. As we walked south along the shore, we explored the tide pools exposed by the low tide. Sea anemones were abundant. I watched hermit crabs in their adopted shells skitter in the shallows. We could feel the damp on our faces as we walked, and the beach ahead of us disappeared. Landmarks that tell us how far we’ve gone and how much farther we have to go disappear, changing the landscape, making the familiar unfamiliar.

Near the end of the stretch of beach we walked, the sun prevailed and we stopped to watch surfers, seemingly too close to the cliffs, ride waves and duck into the brilliant translucent tubes of water. We headed back, finding the fog again…a little less dense this time. At one point I noticed the beach split between the fog and sun.

Can I read the sky like others read the palms of hands or the remains of tea leaves? Does this mean that clarity is right in front of me? Or does it mean that I need to keep wading through the fog, wiping away those smudges, shining light into dark spaces until it becomes second nature and I know clarity when I see it?

Beginnings

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I’ve been reading Margaret Atwood’s Book of Lives: A Memoir of Sorts. (She’s the author of Handmaid’s Tale) I heard an interview with her talking about the book before it came out and I thought I would really enjoy it. At about 30% (isn’t it weird how the Libby app gets us talking about books in percentages?) into the book, I’m not so sure I love the book (I just noticed it is 600 pages long!), but it does have me thinking about some things.

In the book she starts with her childhood and kind of plods along describing her parents, her less than typical living situations, early jobs she held… I’m getting to where she says things like that all the buildings in Handmaid’s Tale are actual buildings near Harvard (where she went to graduate school).

Today was warm again…beach weather in March. So after school instead of a sweaty walk around the neighborhood, we headed to the beach for a much more refreshing walk. Even though the tide was rising, we headed south (our most favorite direction). There’s a place about 2/3 of the way to our turn around point that we call “the corner.” Before all the sand refurbishing work, this used to be a place that was hard to get around unless the tide was super low–maybe that’s why we call it the corner. Anyway, this corner is the place where we often see an osprey perched, looking over the ocean. But the more interesting part of this “corner” is that there is a face in the cliff.

She’s always there. Her face has changed some over the years–I guess she is aging like the rest of us. And with Margaret Atwood in my head, now I’m thinking that maybe I should write her story. I don’t have all the mythology and old English cannon of books under my belt like Margaret Atwood. But I do have years of working with kids and endless walks on the beach to draw on.

I’ve never been an aspiring novelist dreaming of writing great works of fiction…but maybe I can let my years of photos of this face in the cliff inspire her story along with her friend the osprey who spends lots of time perched in her hair.

What do you notice about this face in the cliff? What are you wondering?

A Momentary Pause

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Teaching by the sea means that my commute often offers spectacular views. Many mornings are gray, but today was cloudy in a much more interesting way. The clouds billowed, looking like they would be soft to the touch, thick and whipped like a creamy topping on my favorite coffee. The sun was peeking over the top, pinking the sky. I couldn’t resist pulling over and stopping for a minute to snap a few pictures.

If you look closely at my photo, you’ll also notice the moon, bright above the clouds, reminding me that this will not be a low tide kind of week. As one who walks the beach regularly, I know that full moons and new moons offer the lowest tides and the widest walking beaches–my favorite. There is also this rail trail (that you can’t see that I am standing on to take this photo) that is walkable regardless of the tide and well-used in this walk crazy community.

Sometimes it is the spontaneous, spur of the moment stop to pause, and take in the view that sets the mood for the day. This was great way to start mine.

Ripples

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I love the way water ripples. Something disrupts—a pebble, a water droplet, even a wave—changing the course or disturbing the calm and ripples move out. Layers and layers in movement. Energy in motion: palpable, visual, sonic.

I’ve been feeling those ripples in my life this week. The connection to another blogger’s post that has me sharing the post with this person and that person…because they HAVE to read it. They will want to try what this blogger described. The email from a colleague about the conference session I presented on Saturday and used her book as a mentor text…and then she learned about it from those in attendance who were so excited to meet her at a different event. The friend I haven’t heard from in months who reached out because she happened on yesterday’s post and felt that closeness we used to share when we lived in the same city.

I can feel that energy driving me, encouraging me to reach out and connect too. That ripple of touch continues to spread, the concentric circles widening until it spills into the milky froth of foam sliding along the shore.

What ripples are you experiencing this week?

Photography and Writing

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For nearly 14 years I have been taking a photo (nearly) every day and posting it to social media, specifically to Instagram (you can find me @kd0602. In many ways it is a part of my writing practice. The camera helps me pay attention and when I pay attention words begin to flow. (I also started my blog at about the same time)

I’ve also gotten in the habit of sharing my photography practice with my students, specifically teaching them some techniques to try on in their photography. Last week I showed first graders examples of photos taken from a bug’s eye view, a bird’s a view, and using the rule of thirds. They were excited to try this out! We headed out to our school garden where students were to take three photos using each technique. (And to try not to all take the same photos!). We returned to the classroom to take a close look at the 9 photos and select the one that would then become the basis of the writing we would do.

I was pleased with these first grade photos. I can see the bug’s eye view, the rule of thirds, and the bird’s eye view (and my students were eager to explain their perspective to me!).

Things I Love Today

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In no particular order:

Tuesday Treats: a burst of protein (deviled eggs, cheese and crackers), some blue tortilla chips with salsa, and a spoonful of pastel M&Ms. The perfect boost at recess (for teachers) for energy to manage the rest of the day. (Our students did NOT see their shadow in February and they are in full spring behaviors!)

Afternoon recess duty: sunny and mild with a view of the blue Pacific Ocean. The PE teacher wrangling the competitive basketball boys to an organized line shooting baskets, so I didn’t need to put my attention there. Instead, I rescued the many basketballs that had rolled off the blacktop. As I tossed them back I noticed a couple of girls retrieving them and putting them back on the ball rack. I love when kids are helpful just for fun. A relaxing and non-stressful recess for me!

My daily walk: getting home in time to squeeze my walk in before my Zoom meeting. A chance to reconnect and debrief my day with my hubby, mentally clearing space for the complex thinking needed for planning a collaborative project with colleagues from the California Reading and Literature Project (CRLP).

Comfort Food: Yum! Spaghetti dinner prepared by our resident chef (not me!). Perfectly filling, hot and savory, satisfying without feeling heavy.

What are you loving today?

Orangish: A Color Walk

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I was talking with my sister last weekend and she mentioned she had done a color walk with a friend at the beach. I’ve done color walks with my students around the school, often picking a color that I think they’ll have to look hard to find. I like the way that a focus on something: a color, a shape, a something…opens up new possibilities for what you might notice.

Of course, for me a color walk is also a photography walk…and lately a poetry walk as well. The tide has been low this week during my walking times, so the tide pools have been calling my name.

The color of giant kelp (macrocystis pyrifera) kept calling my name. An amber, goldish, kind of orangish color. And weirdly enough I felt like it was echoed in the landscaping I walked by (I did have quite a trek since we had summer over the weekend and parking also felt like summer–like looking for a needle in a haystack!).

With orangish on my mind, I pulled a small collection of photos from my walk, and then used them to inspire some small poetry. To be honest, I dreamed poems all night on Sunday, tossing and turning, writing and revising in my head. And then when I woke up it was all gone.

So, in the spirit of orangish, I’m going to try again. (Although I doubt I can conjure what seemed so urgent and perfect in those busy, persistent writing dreams.)

i.

I close my eyes and the sun pours in

painting the insides of my eyelids a warm

and soothing orangish

ii.

blinking

cool pools emerge

alive with shelled hermits

the unhomed of the crab world

investigating abandoned curves of mother of pearl

awash in orangish spiralling exterior

iii.

tide pool gardens bloom

floral anemones waving tentacles

decorating with bits of shell

iv.

on dry land I notice anemone’s cousin

a pin cushion of a blossom

exotic, styling points instead of petals

in all of the orangish and amber of the sea

v.

and a familiar bird

not the one with the bright yellow feet

but the one with a bright orangish mohawk

atop its sharp blue beak

it can only be named bird of

vi.

Paradise

@kd0602

Maybe you can squeeze a color walk into your week. What color will speak to you?

With a Full Heart: Entering 2026

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Calendars are interesting. We start our new calendar year on January 1st (happy 2026 everyone!), we start and end fiscal years (in schools anyway) at the end of June/first of July, and school begins in August now, ending before June begins for some of us. All of these beginnings and endings offer opportunities for reflection, setting and resetting of goals, and resolute moments to improve ourselves, our lives, our practice.

Somehow, though, it is the January 1st occasion that prompts the most drastic of declarations. My husband, a self-professed gym rat, detests the infusion of well-intentioned exercisers that arrive in January. But, then again, they are mostly “done” before the month is over. So many of us declare an end to our vices, vow to improve our health and fitness by pushing away alcohol and sugar, promise to read X number of books by the end of the year…the list goes on. Unfortunately, these traditional resolutions don’t work for many and are often abandoned shortly into the new year.

There’s a group of people who moved from resolutions to finding a guide word for the year. I tried this for a few years. The first year (when I declared my word “play”) worked out well–I really did frame my actions through the lens of play that year. But then again, maybe that was where I was heading anyway. After a few years, I struggled to find a word that resonated and I let the practice of looking for a guide word fall by the wayside.

Last year, on New Year’s Day, I stumbled upon a new muse for my year and declared 2025 the year of the sea star. And all through the year sea stars and other tide pool critters inspired me, greeted me, taught me life lessons, and generally kept me moving forward with more joy than I expected. I continued to learn more about the qualities of sea stars–their propensity for self-healing, their flexibility and tenacity, and the ways they evoke wonder and awe in those who see them.

So how do you top a sea star year? I continue to spend plenty of time in our local tide pools and have been treated to so many amazing tide pool creature sightings: octopuses, sea hares, brittle stars, giant sea stars, bat stars, nudibranchs, wavy turban snails, and the list continues. So of course, as the King Tides returned over New Year’s again this year, I was on the beach. I feel like my heart lives there, beating in and out with the rhythms of the waves, salt water flowing through my veins, my breaths mingling with those of migrating whales and playful dolphins. And as I turned to walk back toward my car on the other end of the of the beach, I saw it…

This heart reminds me to cherish what is right in front of me: my family and friends, the ocean and other fragile natural places, the work that fills me with purpose. Maybe this is a sign to pay careful attention this year. To notice what others miss, to share my insights, to care with my full heart.

Even with a full heart, I know there is room for more generosity, more empathy, more love. That is how I am stepping into 2026.

What does 2026 hold for you? How do you find your muse? I’d love to hear about your journey into the new year.

The Place I Go To

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Sometimes a prompt inspires me. That was my experience when I read Padraig O Tuama’s prompt– the one that arrives in my email inbox each week. After reading a poem by Jane Mead, O Tuama suggested describing a place you go to. I’m a beach goer–and this week offers low-tide walking beaches timed to fit in after I finish work each day. So instead of taking my daily walk around the neighborhood, I’m heading to the beach each afternoon–my favorite beach–to walk and breathe and appreciate this place not far from where I live.

Today I decided to go with a Haibun–that form that allows for some meandering prose followed by Haiku. And while the beach is always enough, it is such a delight when I come across something special. Today it was a wavy turban snail–one of those hearty sea creatures that thrives in the intertidal zone, a harsh place that is exposed during low tide.

The puzzle of tides keeps me guessing as I walk the shoreline. Familiarity interlaced with mystery, each day brings new treasures to discover. Fall, summers’s sister, opens space to breathe, mixes heat with edges of crispy coolness, feet immersed in the translucent turquoise only the sea can offer. This is my place, ordinarily extraordinary.

Wavy turban snail

Snuggled in the low tide pool

Today’s sea treasure

#lightandautumn #wavyturbansnail

#lowtide #writeout #view #light #place #haibun

Ode to the Sea: NPM25 Day 27