Sear, sere seer.

The epitome of wintry mix, just the sort of day when it becomes difficult to remember that we are swinging sunward once more. What is this? we say after dinner, looking up, hands out. Look back, look toward the light: that's shimmer, fine glister, down-dusting: that's snow, even if it's only coming down to dampen the pavement. It's not that we're forgetting. It's that we're out of practice. Maybe snow will make it less grey outside, wishes a student. Brighten the place up a bit. Myself, I think we may be due for some severity.

Today's class revealed to me why I've been having such difficulty with focus: at speeds slower than 1/60 of a second, anyone alive is liable to suffer some degree of camera shake. Oh. So simple? So simple. Get a tripod. Props are allowed. In fact, props are going to be required. Can a window be a mask? Oh, yes, if I have anything to say about it. First up, dream images, and I wonder how creeped out can we get each other with these projects.

Walking from home to the officehouse, I notice branding where I've not seen it, naming this pole with its color but also marking it not-tree. And though I am so blasted short that I can't get it head-on, and though what light there was today is fading, I try this exposure mess again, and it's not as bad as it has been. Strange how much of my frustration has stemmed, yet again, from expectations that all would be smooth, simple, that I could make a seamless transition, graduate painlessly to the next happy thing. Strange how long it takes me to recognize this pattern, familiar though it is.

Days like today, knowledge tends toward the sere, the searing, the hard to get, the impossible to handle. I'm taking what I can get, where I can get it.