It's hard to know what story is being told here. It must be winter because the tree shadow that is being cast upon the wall doesn't show any leaves. The tree that can be seen over on the far left also is devoid of leaves. Of course, the trees could also be dead. There's one hour parking both on the left and on the right. One hour, for me, is usually enough. Then, there's the arrow over on the left hand side. Pointing to what? Or who? There's a suggestion of a cross above the arrow, adding a bit of mysticism to the whole scene. I'm in this neighborhood, however, to buy fresh fish. You'd never know, though, by looking at this picture.

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This lady has a mission. You can tell because she is sensibly dressed in no nonsense slacks and jacket. She has a smart bag slung over her shoulder making it hard for someone who might be tempted to snatch this bag to actually do so. She's going down the escalator at Gallery Place in Washington DC. It's like dropping into a pit. The moving stairs don't operate a lot of the time which is not so much a problem for going down, but is work if you're going up. Somehow the stair height isn't right. Even if you wear sensible shoes. 

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We were on our way to visit friends in Jersey City. This required a few different subway lines. Before 9-11 I used to get there by way of a line that ran through the WTC. There's another way to go now. The Exchange Place station is graced with a symphony of neon and as you descend you travel through a bewildering colorscape of shapes. It's all part of the adventure of getting to New Jersey.

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It's hard to tell what's going on here. Maybe the opening scene of some horror movie about blood sucking dolls in navy drag. Looks like a double exposure. But it's not. There's no sense of place, but it's obviously some place. There are buildings and grass. And dolls. What's with the dolls? They frame the picture almost, but not quite. I like this image because it asks more questions than it can answer. But I don't think they're actually blood sucking dolls. Not really.

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Washington is a city of RedWhiteBlue. Flags are everywhere and generally the flags contain one or more stars and stripes of red and of white. They are more or less versions of the American flag and all that that means. If they aren't flying on a flagpole in from of some governmental establishment, they are hanging from some lightpole as a decoration. Or an an advertisement. Or as a decoration. Or as a way to add some color to the streetscape. This one, I think, was in the latter category. It was some awsome competition with the brilliant reflection in the windows of the building across the street. 

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The space was almost empty. There was just a couple of tables in the window. Obviously, something was in process. Some plan was being hatched. There was a man and a woman and they were looking over some architectural drawings. Maybe it was going to be their shop and they would sell beautiful things to people who had the money to buy such things. Maybe they were the architects finalizing their plans. The light coming through the window lit up one of the tables, drawing attention to it, and to them, from the passer bys on the street. I was one of them. 

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The light looked like something that should be coming into a cathedral. Rich and the color of honey. But it was shining on an artfully arranged grouping of chairs around a low, circular, blonde colored table in an office building. The area is, I suppose, meant to be an informal area for employees to sit and meet, or sit and sun themselves, or play cards, or whatever. Mostly, though, the chairs are empty. They have become sculpture that sits on natural fiber carpeting. The air is always clean and 70 degrees, except when the sun shines in through the double glazed windows. 

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Nicki wanted to visit the Tenement Museum in the Lower East Side. So we did. Afterward, I wandered around the neighbor hood for a bit. A fire truck from The New York Fire Department slowly maneuvered down the street, turned the corner and parked (!). The truck was a HUGE presence in that part of town because the streets are narrow and crowed. I was amazed the whole thing could find a place to park, but it did. There wasn't a fire to put out. I don't really know why the truck was there, but after they found a place to land it, a couple of the guys jumped down and crossed the street. They were there, apparently, to buy pickles from a vendor set up on the street. The pickles were kept in buckets of plastic and of wood and they must have been good to make it worthwhile to drive a New York City Fire truck down that street and then park it! I continued around the corner and saw this graffiti. Most of it was just spray paint tags, but what was wonderful for me was the post card picture of the chineese man, dressed in black with a mandarin red background that someone had glued up there. It made the whole thing come together for me. I imagine that must happen a lot in lower Manhattan. 

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Sometimes it's hard to take it all in at once. Sometimes you just have to sit back, or stand back, take your chin in one or more hands, and just try to figure it out. Even then, it might not make sense all at once. Sometimes what's going on has to become clear in stages. Sometimes none of it makes sense no matter how long it digests or how hard it's pondered. 

Stumble It!