Pine Needles

Across the street from my house on Seapit Road was a path that led to a clearing, and in the back of the clearing was the entrance to a footpath that went through all the trees to the street where a buddy of mine lived.  About half way through this footpath, in the middle of the woods, was a pine tree with a thick carpet of brown pine needles.  The scent was always very appealing, and if you were bare foot, Tom Sawyerish, the thick pine needles felt very comfortable.  I’d climb that tree, which was very tall, all the way to the top, and suddenly, at the very top, you poked your head out above all the surrounding trees and could see for miles — above it all. 

Once I lost my grip on a branch while climbing up the tree and fell all the way to the ground, snapping branches on the way down.  I landed squarely on my back on the thickest part of those wonderful pine needles, which saved me, along with those snapping branches which broke the fall. 

The scent of pine is still one of my favorites.

My Story

Curiosity, Central Park

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People, A Photographer’s Perspective by Henry Barnard

My Story

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It’s A Boy!

O joy! O joy! The bells are ringing!
Our bonny boy arrives, we are singing.
His future, that remains unclear,
But our hopes, they are in the stratosphere.

Might he become another Einstein?
Will age produce a very fine wine?
Or perhaps another Shakespeare?
Certainly someone without peer.

But, alas, our hopes quickly dashed by time.
What he becomes in a flash a crime.
By the age of ten, surly and fat,
Our bonny boy an ordinary brat!

All Poetry – Henry Barnard

 

 

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Mother and Child, Central Park

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People, A Photographer’s Perspective

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Joy

Kids dash for the summer pool.
Make a big splash the only rule.
Hootin’ and hollerin’ and swimmin’, stay cool.
Everyone not there – what a fool!

Wiggle and jiggle —
There’s fun in the sun.
Don’t forget to giggle
Until the day is done.

Everyone wearing goggles.
Back stroke, breast stroke, side stroke, crawl.
Peewees in a constant joggle,
Just having a ball.

Submerge, emerge, soak.
Back flip, handstand, float.
Dive in, belly flop, cannonball.
Who’s the biggest goofball?

As the day winds down,
The merriment a mere echo,
But your best bud still a funny clown
Like Marco and Polo.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

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Skipping Shadow

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People, A Photographer’s Perspective by Henry Barnard

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Lollipop

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People, A Photographer’s Perspective by Henry Barnard

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