From June 3, 2012
From June 3, 2012
From June 3, 2012
From June 3, 2012
From June 3, 2012

I know: bad photos and not exactly new to here. How many times can she take the same photos and call them different? 

Answers: I could take essentially the same photos from now until doomsday and not feel the slightest inkling of "something's wrong with me."  My best friends attribute this to some form of mental illness identified with three capital letters. My mere acquaintances (whom I actually like better) don't attribute it to anything more than the fact that I like pelicans. 

In fact, I adore pelicans.  They are to me in North Carolina what Canada geese are to me in Connecticut. Because these guys smile like the bird that ate the cat that ate the canary--because they just might have. 

These modest photos actually represent a small success for me with my new Canon PowerShot that I take everywhere. (I am a firm believer in carrying a Canon PowerShot everywhere and at all times. For myself. You do what you want.) Dealing with the glare on the viewfinder, which reflects a sadly unflattering and aging image of myself, I find it hard sometimes to know what is on the other side of the lens. Then there's the matter of shooting from a distance without the people in front of me thinking you I am shooting them. I am sensitive to this because I don't want to be the subject of--or the symbol of existential isolation or some other suicide-inducing thought in--someone else's photo. In short, I am not interested in intruding on others with my camera unless those others have feathers or are Andy Pettitte, which is the subject of another post entirely. 

I just love these birds because they love life. That the birds are in the frames at all means I am getting somewhere with this new little camera that I have dropped on the ground twice without causing any damage.  (Canon rocks, my friends.)  

These birds love life.  I know they do. They told me so (when you were smiling for some other camera.)