Though less dramatic than Acadia National Park, its neighbor just to the north, the Blue Hill Peninsula shares the beauty typical of the shaggy, island speckled Maine coast – moody in morning fog, glorious when the sun breaks through.
The reflections in the river make it look like this goose is swimming through the clouds.
For the first time in 31 years, we did not spend this week on Sandy Island, our home away from home on Lake Winnepesaukee, New Hampshire.
Damn you, pandemic.
Even in the darkest of times, music finds a way to endure, and lift us up.
Whenever I bike past this sign on a quiet road in Weston, Massachusetts, it makes me smile. So this week I finally stopped to photograph it. Oddly, though I’ve been up and down this road dozens of times, at every hour of the day, I’ve never seen any children in the area. They must be ranging far and wide.
Halibut Point in Gloucester, Mass. is a favorite picnic spot of ours, and a great place to watch sunsets. It’s a place where a chaos of boulders tumble from high cliffs down to the sea. This rock looks to me like a petrified whale breaking through the surface.
In my opinion, among the most graceful and musical of flowers.
This is an old favorite of mine, which I shot on Beacon Hill in Boston in the summer of 2007. Besides the characters on the bench, I like the way the sights through the window and the reflections in the window blend together, especially the disembodied hand holding up a finger in the window on the left.
Photos by Barry Hass 