The tree I photograph most often through the rippled window is dead. The greenery and blooms captured throughout the seasons are mostly from vines like forsythia, ivy and something holly-like. With each storm, more of the tree falls to the ground, whole branches and bits of bark.
For safety’s sake, at some point soon, whoever owns that particular piece of ground will have to chop that tree down. The woodpeckers will certainly miss their perch and the insects that they dine upon will miss their home. The vines I suspect will continue to thrive.
Even cut off at the base, they always seem to come back, finding new objects to drape upon. And the moss is ever present.
Adjacent is the neighbor’s garden. He did quite well his first season with a multi-tiered, lush affair of eggplant and kale, tomatoes and cauliflower.
I expect he grew potatoes, too, like me. And I know for sure I saw the green beans climbing up their strings.
As December looms, all that’s left are the relics of dark greens and tomatoes that I guess the city rabbits and city squirrels couldn’t figure out how to get.
There is the chain link fence but that doesn’t prevent his cat from getting out so I’d think that wouldn’t prevent other animals from getting in. If I do my local Open Studios next year, perhaps I will focus on prints of scenes through the rippled glass.
One window, many views. We’ll see. Ideas are easy. It is the follow-through that’s hard. FYI, these are untouched photos of views in this early morning’s light.