Shadows

Woland to Matthew Levi:

 “But would you be so kind as to ponder this question: what would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But shadows also come from trees and living beings. Do you want to strip the entire globe of all trees and living things just because of your fantasy of enjoying naked light? You are stupid."

(M. Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita, ch. 29) 

 

The Crow of Peterhof

"I am a Eurasian hooded crow, just chilling here--literally--by the Gulf of Finland, hanging out outside of Peter the Great's palatial complex in Peterhof."

"I like it here up north: when it gets hot for those few days in the summer, I refresh myself in the royal fountains. How many avians can attest to that? In fact, I prefer the cascades perching atop golden Samson glistening in the sun. (His post-WWII replacement, that is, since the Nazis stole the real one, and it's never been recovered.)

And best of all, I watch silly tourists from all over the world attempting to toss coins into Peter's boots (those of his statue, but it might as well be real Peter, since he was nearly seven feet tall!). Their tour guides tell them that it's for good luck. Good luck for me--I've already amassed a small fortune from all the coins that missed!

So I'd retire in the Maldives, but I prefer the local climate. And besides, who's going to keep all the tourists in check?"

 

Have You Seen the Moon in June?

Late sunset over spiked evergreen silhouettes on the mountain was not as striking as certain jaw-dropping exemplars one gets to witness in the greater Pacific Northwest, but the wispy clouds and soft breeze on the balcony made my late-evening Russian-English translation a relaxing-enough experience. 

Then it appeared. 

Or, should I say, disappeared.  The moon lay hidden beneath a cloud as the latter moved continually, forming anthropomorphic and fantastical patterns.

And soon after--silence. 

Farewell to Slavianka

June 7, 2013. It's nearly 11 o'clock at night, but completely light outside.

White nights in the St. Petersburg area. 

We are leaving Catherine's Palace in Tsarskoe Selo, having been wined and entertained (as I wrote earlier ) by a classical concert and a petite lady in red making an occasional appearance--and the walls of the great palatial hall shake with her operatic shrieks competing with a nightingale. 

Like this. 

It's always the tiny ones, isn't it? 

 

As I walk toward the gate, I am using my telephoto lens to shoot closeups of imperial heraldry over the palace with the dual-headed eagle and the black-gold-and-white flag.

Then I hear it. One of my favorite military marches!

The trumpeters who greeted us as we entered are now saying "goodbye" with, well, Farewell to Slavianka. The latter is an imperial-turned-Soviet march that now exists in numerous instrumental, vocal, and lyrical varieties. 

So when you look at the image below, this is what you should hear. Well, perhaps, you should envision a tank, too. And a bear, to make it extra-Russian! 

 

Swedish Street Musician

The surest way to get to know a city--any city--in the here-and-now is to sit in a coffee shop and watch people go about their daily life, not visit museums and monuments. (Those serve a different purpose, and are meant to express the essence of a culture at its pinnacle.) 

My best people-watching experiences so far have been in Tokyo and Moscow. The Baltic trip has been the epitome of tourism--organized and guided sightseeing, by and large--so I have had very few opportunities to engage in documentary street photography.

Yet there have been some exceptions too, and this street musician from Stockholm's medieval town is one of my favorites.