The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Must be the season for crane flies
08:50 Mar 29 2009
Times Read: 764


When wildlife seems scarce, grab a macro lens.





From two feet away, it almost disappears.





Interesting that you can photograph one for half an hour and never notice the droplet on the eye.





Enough already?



Nikon D80, Sigma 150mm macro, Sigma 1.4x TC

Nikon D200, Nikkor 60mm micro

Post-ride camera session - March 28
08:38 Mar 29 2009
Times Read: 766




He saw me at the same time I saw him. Getting him out of his hiding spot took a little coaxing.





A ladybug in the making.





Sucking the life-blood of the cactus



All Images: Nikon D200, Nikkor 60mm micro, hand-held.



Macro gets you closer than you've ever been. Worth the frustration, time and practice.

As promised, I did grab the cameras.
03:16 Mar 28 2009
Times Read: 793


Not much to photograph, though.





Think of this as Energy





And think of this as matter (two forms of the same thing)





Ever need a friend and need a rub, but not want one from the other?





The advantage to doing all of your feeding through a straw is the money you save on a dental plan.





Just your standard kiss of death.





A bed of flower petals, very romantic.





Here's looking at you!





Then again, with the right partner, anywhere will do. (Crane flies getting squirmy)





The eyes are the window to the "soul".

(Nikon D80, Sigma 150mm macro, Sigma 1.4 TC, SB-600 off-camera)

CONVERSATION WITH A DEAD LOVER
05:24 Mar 06 2009
Times Read: 833

It was a simple act of murder; more of a killing really. Somehow it seems not wrong and yet the losses are no less. The logic, I suppose, is irrefutable: we all have the right to kill just one person, without regard to who might feel that death most deeply. So there is nothing to be said and no "justice" to pursue. But what remains is the smokey debris-strewn battlefield -- a permanent residence for those left behind.



Swimming in the dark, attempting to buoy a sinking sea mate who sees only the horizon beyond your eyes and says not a word for your ears. Your help is invisible; tangible, but not felt. So you swim along, hoping to keep them aloft, each in turn. With nothing left you grab for hope even after it has come to rest on the sandy bottom. And when the shore finally comes, it will come not for you.



There remains a distant familiarity -- a ghost of the mind. But the similarity is an illusion. The heart beats no more. The pastel-painted, plaster face smiles a petrified porcelain smile. They are dead -- murdered by the hand you trusted most. This; that the dead may survive... and the survivor live eternal death.