To the Waters and the Wild

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Rebecca and her twelve week old daughter, Hooper. 

Hoop resting in mama's arms as mama looks on.

Lovely ladies.

Melissa and Esme, with Beetle in the background.

Brooke and baby Hooper as photographed by Brooke's five year old son Rhodes. Good catch!

Grant and the Beetle, photographed by Rhodes.

Benny and I with Brooke and Hooper, photographed by Rhodes.

Cousins in the tub at Granny and Grandpa Kroeker's house.

Ives and his mom Nikaela discuss his schoolwork. 

Beatty-Pet gang eating power-up PB balls on their back porch. Rebecca and her young, Evey, Atlas and Arlo.

Tony finesses the details as we prepare to capture the Tony Chestnut SS20 collection.

Lane takes in the space as we dip into the flow of the shoot. I love the sight of her dad's Magician's Hat on the floor, off to the left.

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Here lies another roll of 35 HP4 400 run through IDP's Canon AE-1. The latter half of February to the first week in March. Below, a poem I come back to again and again.

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The Stolen Child by W. B. Yeats - 1865-1939

Where dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water rats;

There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berrys

And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim gray sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above Glen-Car
In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout

And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;

Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,

The solemn-eyed:

He'll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.