New Moon in Cancer

I've spent the last two days photographing, editing, and writing an academic paper, not to mention swimming front crawl and breast stroke through some serious waves at the lake and sprinting up and down the mountain with dogs in terms of leisure. So I thought I've earned a bit of time away from the computer, the camera, and everything else, for that matter, until I looked out the window and--finally!--saw the new crescent Moon over another pink-stripped remnant of a sunset.  

 

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I couldn't stay away. This is the crescent Moon at exactly 10:45 pm on July 13, 2013.

In the Woods

It was precisely at this very spot (psst, look down!) that I put a serious dent into the local bears' wild-strawberry supply. They were delicious (the strawberries, not the bears)! The latter always reminds me of visiting the Russian countryside as a child.

So, it's Nina: 1, Bears: 0. 

On second thought, the bears could get hungry now, which might change the score a bit. A lot. 

Eek! 

On the Mountain

I'm drinking Orchidée Noire tea. Vanilla black by Mariage Frères. Too much of it, actually.

I will regret this later. 

Up on the mountain, I take periodic breaks from reading (somewhat reluctantly) my reviewers' suggestions to step outside. The peaks across the valley are ribbons in the shades of blue, perfectly ironed, thanks to the overexposed sky. Then, as the Sun begins its descent, the landscape slowly acquires some dimension in lilac and baby-girl pink. 

Modestly colored North American hummingbirds buzz past my face--no, not like the original "little helicopters," as people seem to call them--more like missiles. Larger birds sing, and a dog barks in the distance. The latter makes me realize that I haven't heard the howling of the wolves that inhabit this mountain in quite some time.   

As the sky darkens, the water acquires an unnatural tint, though nowhere near the turquoise on the nights of red. 

Still no Moon. 

 

Back to the Tunnel

They say there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

But what if you associate this proverbial tunnel--on occasion--with comforting darkness and much-needed solitude, whereas the piercing light at its termination point symbolizes the never-ending buzz of a crowd and distraction, too much distraction? 

Sometimes, it is best to stay in the tunnel and wait. 

I Swim, Therefore I Am

It was bound to happen.

Tonight, I went to the nearby lake in order to get some action shots of water dogs doing what they've been bred to do best--retrieve--and ended up swimming myself instead.  

It was at that moment that I realized: whenever I head to one of the local lakes in the winter, I return with a handful of decent photographs, like this one:

Yet the majority of my images from the summer or early fall are mobile snapshots such as the ones below.

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It is simple, really. Growing up in Moscow, I was trained to swim for a number of years, and I really loved it. (In fact, back then, coaches visited elementary schools and picked me for various other athletic disciplines--from figure skating to tennis. Even gymnastics was on the list, though I was "dumped" soon afterward, when they realized I was going to grow into somewhat of a Gulliver among the petite, four-foot-nine girls.)

Later on, like most people trapped by The City, the choice to swim comprised either the overly chlorinated, sneeze-inducing swimming pool or some remote lake in the summer, accessible only on weekends. 

Then I moved across the entire continent to "Twin Peaks" and discovered that one of the cleanest glacial lakes in North America was just a walk away! I might sound a bit like an eco hippy by saying that I'm "of the water," but worry not: I imagine myself as a giant mosasaurus when I swim, not some dolphin or worse yet, a wimpy mermaid! 

As a result, everyone around gets to be annoyed by this overly giddy post-swim mosasaurus, hear it...err...me brag incessantly about each of my workouts comprising a distance of 2.5-3.5 km  (2 miles) primarily in front crawl (see, I did it again!), and, most important, miss out on aesthetically pleasing water photography in the summer.  

But I think we can all live with that. After all, the alternative is much worse: transforming into a full-fledged "swim bum," spending all day at the lake, and developing a bad case of giant shoulders.