I love the word “obelisk.” It has a beautiful flow to it, and it describes only one thing. When I say it, especially as I think about it in obsessive depth as for a blog post, the beginning “oh” lasts a little longer than it probably should, that single letter taking as much time as the entire rest of the word – “oooohhhhhhhh-belissk.” And, as you can see, the “s” gets a little stretched, too.
Wow. I think I’ve just revealed myself a little too much with that paragraph. Oh well. Openness is the thing.
There’s a state park near Hanover, Pennsylvania called Codorus. It contains beautiful, little Lake Marburg surrounded by a forest. I have a young photographer friend in Hanover, who is going to be a far better and more focused photographer than I am when he settles into his groove, which probably won’t be too much longer, and whenever I’m in town, we spend at least one morning walking in the forest, shooting. On the most recent visit, we went back to a tiny cemetery, probably a family plot, that we had seen another time.
For some reason, the family used several small obelisks in making their memorials, and they called to me on this morning. I spent several minutes trying to get the look I wanted with them – to show the forest taking over, even as the grass is kept fairly low. In the end, getting two of the obelisks in one picture didn’t do it for me, but this broken tree branch did the trick. I was able to push the obelisk into a forgotten corner, and enhance the intrinsic sadness with a broken, lichen-covered branch, while simultaneously celebrating the circle of life with bright sunlight and lush forest. Oooooobelissk. Yeah.