DARIN HAYTON

Category: Out and About

  • Morning by the Sea

    Morning by the Sea

    I struggle to recall the Before Times when I could stop into the local donut shop and get a cup of coffee and warm my hands before heading back out to enjoy the last bit of darkness. Social distancing comes naturally to me. I have always needed to be alone. Not every day, perhaps, but regularly. That morning before the town had risen and before the fishermen climbed onto boats, I spent the last hours of night wandering the docks. A gentle lapping sound of the water against the pylons, the creaking and stretching of ropes tied around cleats, and my footsteps on the wooden piers.

    Urban #181230.1. A photograph of a boat docked in the predawn gloom.
    Urban #181230.1

    I watch as the eastern sky brightens and think, soon these docks will be bustling with locals and tourists. It was the middle of winter, so probably more locals than tourists that time of year.

    Urban #181230.2. A photograph of a boat docked in the predawn gloom.
    Urban #181230.2

    I have never developed a fondness for the coast and the little towns that cling to the shore, too busy and crowded. But that morning, sitting on a bench on that pier, I understood why so many people do like these towns. They are lovely and can, at the right time of day, be peaceful.

    Looking at these photos reminds me of a time when being alone was a choice, a time of day or a place. They also remind me of not being alone, of walking away from the docks and back to have breakfast with my family.

  • Silhouette of a Horse

    Silhouette of a Horse

    A chance to spend another hour or so at Ashford Farms, a local stable, gave me the chance to take some more photos of the horses. Many of the horses were in their stables, so I tried to make the best of the strong lighting contrast. Silhouettes seemed like a good way to go. A few turned out ok. Here’s one:

    Silhouette of a horse at Ashford Farms.
    #211009
  • Can’t See the Forest

    Can’t See the Forest

    Standing here looking west, it’s easy to lose yourself in thick forest of trees. There is no path leading forward. No obvious way to the far side, if indeed there is a far side. Although the sun shines somewhere overhead, here under the canopy of branches and leaves a diffuse light seems to permeate the scene. I pause for a moment to enjoy the solitude and to imagine I’m on the edge of some vast unknown.

    A particularly wooded section of campus.

    Then the pneumatic hammer begins pounding, so close it startles me. I am not, alas, in the middle of some ancient forest but a scant few feet from a construction project. Men running jack hammers and excavating the existing parking lot presumably to replace it with a new one. I turn around and watch the workmen for a few minutes, lament the intrusion of civilization, and then head down the nature trail toward my office where, if I’m lucky, it will be quieter.

  • Horse portraits

    Horse portraits

    On a recent Saturday at the local stables I dawdled around taking photos of the horses. They were so cooperative, extending their heads and looking right at me.

    #210818.1

    It was a lovely day, and a pleasant way to spend a few minutes. I have no idea if the horses cared, they didn’t say one way or another. But I had fun and came away with a handful of striking portaits.

    #210818.2
  • Looking at the sand

    Looking at the sand

    On the beach that morning a couple walked through the water, a group of young people splayed out across the blankets where they had spent the night, and a handful of fishermen were baiting hooks and casting. The sun would come up in about 10 minutes. I scanned the horizon for the beautiful morning scene to capture with my camera. Soon that bright orange ball of fire would float slowing higher in the sky casting its warm light across the sea foam and the glistening sand. Sand.

    A photo of diamond patterns in the sand along the New Jersey coast.
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    In the sand were the most amazing patterns that reminded me of herringbone cloth and patterned fabrics from the early 20th century.

    A photo of diamond patterns in the sand along the New Jersey coast.
    #210613.2

    For the next hour or so I wandered the beach just looking for patterns in the sand. Triangles and diamonds played out across the wet sand. No doubt somebody could tell me how these patters are formed, but I don’t need to know. Just watching them shift and change in subtle ways was enough for me.

    A photo of diamond patterns slanting up to the left in the sand along the New Jersey coast.
    #210613.3

    I lost myself that morning in those patterns. The sunrise was, I am sure, lovely. The national bird sanctuary? No doubt filled with birds. At some point the young people picked up their stuff and headed home, as did the fishermen with tales of the big one that got away. I left with images, photographic and mental, of the sand.

  • Walk out to Winter

    Walk out to Winter

    Snow still covers the ground, lays piled by the sides of roads, and blocks the sidewalks. Ice covers the pond. This morning the world is still monochrome. But not for long.

    #210227.1

    Fog rises from the melting snow, growing thicker as the morning warms. At first the world seemed to be a circle of visibility moving along with me as I walked, no more than a few hundred yards across. But soon even that contracted. Shapes fading into existence as I approached gained faint color and texture only at the last minute, when I could nearly touch them. They lost both color and texture as they receded behind me before quickly dissolving into the whiteness.

    #210227.2

    A world shrouded in fog is a magical place, full of surprises and unknowns. You can neither see nor hear clearly — the fog seems to dampen noise as much as it obscures sight. The noises that do penetrate unsettle and unnerve because they seem to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Every now and then, a tree with the remnants of last year’s leaves clinging to its branches emerged from the fog, water dripping from its leaves glowing golden brown against the milky scene.

    #210227.3

    Mornings like this happen rarely around here, once or twice a year. I feel sorry for all the people who missed this one, but am glad they didn’t invade my enjoyment of it.

  • Snow Storm

    Snow Storm

    Winter has happened this year, or at least February has already been properly cold and snow-filled. We’ve had some wonderful days of blowing, bitter snow storms. A thick layer of snow covers the ice on the local pond. The storms keep people inside, and so naturally I’m compelled to be out, wandering the streets and parks and open spaces. Even through the haze of snow and the monochrome winter afternoons, the promise of spring lurks in the tree branches tinged with yellow. Soon they will explode in the fresh growth of a new year. But not yet. Today winter still rules.

    #210207
  • Sunset Over the Valley

    Sunset Over the Valley

    I paused to rest and to watch the sun hang in the orange sky. Breathing heavily, salt in my hair, and dust on my legs. The weak evening light doing little to warm me. These are the sensations that remind me I’m alive. Exertion. Fatigue. Dirt. Offline. Alone. Chill.

    #210112

    What, I wondered, reminds him that he’s alive? Exertion? Dust? Sweat? Followers? Texts? Is he ever alone? Is he lonely? Why did he come to the top of the hill this evening to look at his phone? Perhaps he gets better reception here.

  • Wind and Grass and Barbed Wire

    Wind and Grass and Barbed Wire

    I had been driving for hours when the sun finally clawed its way over the horizon. The endless black that had enveloped me since I had started out was replaced by endless sky and grasslands. And wind. Always the wind. Barbed wire fences suggested that cattle grazed on the land, somewhere. Windmills suggested that they got thirsty now and then. The ramshackle houses and barns suggested that the few people who used to live in these grasslands had moved away. I stood there in the cold wind, listened to it whistle through the barbed wire, blow through the grasses, and spin the rotor on the windmill. I enjoyed the emptiness.

    #210110

    Then the drone of a long-haul truck reached me. Carried forward on the strong wind, its engine sounded much higher pitched than the Doppler effect could have produced. Then, as it roared by, the drone stretched out into a long, low moan. I turned, climbed back through the barbed wire fence, got into my car, and continued north.

  • Winter Wind

    Winter Wind

    A cold wind whistled through the branches. The winter wind is different. Not simply frigid, though it is surely that, even the slightest breeze produces a haunting, lonely sound. I stand at the edge of a meadow listening to an arboreal death rattle, frozen branches creaking as dry air wheezes through a bronchial network of branches. The winter wind is bitter and unforgiving. But to confront that wind, to feel the biting cold on your exposed skin, to shiver as it steals inside your collar, is to experience life. The cold is a reminder that you are alive.

    #210106