Hard to believe that’s mostly stars instead of noise, right? Canon 5D3, Sigma 8mm lens, 72-seconds at f/3.5
Like some noble yet stern golem– it’s sheer size blotting out the sun- a windmill keeps it’s vigilant watch over the countryside.
Windmills are a great resource. It’s so amazing to see hundreds upon hundreds of them congregating around the Columbia River Gorge… So many, and yet you almost can’t even hear them unless you’re standing really close. I have a tendency to look for faces in inanimate objects (That’s right- you know what to do, Googly Eye Kru!) and I couldn’t help but notice these hungry wheat/windmill faces all around…
Behind the little house in the canyon, a lone tree stands against the backdrop of a blue-grey sky, mid-trunk deep in a sea of prairie weeds. The grayed and brittle lichen-covered tree has a sort of quiet desperation about it; like the abandoned homestead, the tree is a victim of the elements that once nourished it. Just as the home, the tree still stands…it’s jagged and broken branches still reaching for the sky, in a futile (yet beautiful) plea for rain.
Another view of the hard-to-spot homestead, on approach. It was fascinating the way the “feel” of this place could change based on the angle, the position of the sun, or your proximity to it. Makes one wonder about the many memories those slowly deteriorating walls must hold, and the secrets they keep.