Winter, a lingering season, is a time to gather golden moments, embark upon a sentimental journey, and enjoy every idle hour – John Boswell
By: Linda Joyce Ott
Tags: John Boswell, pine cones
Category: Environment, foto, fotographia, Inspiration, Nature, Photo Art, Photography, Photos, Quotes, trees
| Aperture: | f/5 |
|---|---|
| Focal Length: | 71mm |
| ISO: | 200 |
| Shutter: | 1/0 sec |
| Camera: | Canon EOS REBEL T5i |
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My Optimism of Color Blog
Every Tuesday and Friday, I post a photo or piece of art that I’ve created that reflects what I call the Optimism of Color. Through vibrant colors and bold visceral forms, these works shout out my joy at being alive, and my good fortune at being able to continue to make art after surviving five cardiac arrests in 2011.
Each of the images I post brings a smile to my face. I hope they bring you similar joy and laughter through the Optimism of Color.
All photos © Linda Joyce Ott 2024
Links may be used provided that credit is given to optimismofcolor.com.
2 comments on “Winter, a lingering season, is a time to gather golden moments, embark upon a sentimental journey, and enjoy every idle hour – John Boswell”
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Linda Joyce Ott
Linda makes conceptual and abstract paintings, collages, photos and 3D boxes. Her studio is in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada - halfway between Niagara Falls and Toronto. Check out her website at www.lindajoyceott.com
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The Optimism of Color 
….your excellent photo and Boswell reference bring this to mind as I gaze on those beautiful pine cones:
Winter-Time
Robert Louis Stevenson
1850 –1894
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.
Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.
Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.
Happy New Year Lance and thanks for sharing that beautiful poem! Linda