A Vigilant Eye ©2017 - The rolling field of grasses I used as the background in this montage was a lucky find I happened across in Far Hills, NJ. I love using different types of grasses in my pieces and this vacant property was filled with them. It's the future home of Mine Brook Farm, a housing complex being touted as producing a regenerative environment while positively impacting the local wildlife, watershed, soil and ecology. Hopefully, they can make that happen! The abandoned building I placed in the distance, with it's draping blanket of ivy, was captured in western Hunterdon Cty, NJ on a trip home from Easton, PA. The woman peering out the upstairs window is from a vintage family photo given to me by a good friend who thought it would fit nicely into one of my pieces (and I heartily agreed!). The young girl taking an evening stroll is from my own vintage photo collection, but I spotted the majestic red tail hawk accompanying her perched in a tree behind my house. I didn't notice at the time I took the photo because of all the tree branches in the foreground, but upon inspecting the image, I found he was clutching a mouse (apparently his lunch) between his talons. I toyed with the idea of leaving it in the composition, dangling across the young lady's arm but decided it might be a bit too much. So without his mouse, I placed him on her arm and added some clouds, texture, color and filters. As the moon rises in the background, the hawk keeps "a vigilant eye" on the path ahead just as the peculiar woman in the witches hat keeps "a vigilant eye" on the two of them. And perhaps they are all listening to a song being sung in the distance….
The Poet's Song - Alfred Lord Tennyson
The rain had fallen, the Poet arose,
He passed by the town, and out of the street,
A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
And waves of shadow went over the wheat,
And he set him down in a lonely place,
And chanted a melody loud and sweet,
That made the wild swan pause in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his feet.
The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee,
The snake slipt under a spray,
The hawk stood with the down on his beak
And stared, with his foot on the prey
And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs,
But never a one so gay,
For he sings of what the world will be
When the years have died away".