Working from home amid the coronavirus outbreak, I
find, among the things I miss the most, are exercise and fresh air (even the
not-so-great air of midtown Manhattan). When the sun unexpectedly came out late
this afternoon, then, I took off immediately for Miller’s Pond, nearby Dwight
Morrow High School here in my hometown of Englewood, NJ. I made sure to bring my camera and photograph what I saw.
As seen here, the water in this stream is not
particularly clear, but it has been a constant in my life. I remember walking up here 50 years ago, not yet a tween, and taking the path that wound around the
pond as far as it would go, the way a young person wants to explore everything
in life, finding in it something new, and glorifying especially in the appearance of spring after a hard winter.
I did not imagine at that point that relatively late
in my life, I would develop an interest in photography that would lead me to
try to capture what still strikes me as picturesque. I also did not imagine, so long
ago, that anything—a hidden enemy ready to attack the human body, or, perhaps
in the not-so-distant future, a threat in the environment itself—could interfere
with the enjoyment that I and so many other residents of this suburb
experienced by this pond's shores.
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