The photos used in the first “November Dawn Ferry” seemed so strongly related that most of the other photos from that trip didn’t seem to belong with them. The rejected ones were complaining to me about being left out.
So they get a post of their own.
Let’s go back to the boat. The six o’clock ferry is often uncrowded.
As we left Woods Hole I took a photo toward the northwest.
Dawn’s rosy fingers press hard on the slaty purple of retreating night.
Up at the bow, the coming dawn reflected from the flat planes of wheelhouse windows.
A fingernail-clipping moon’s curves echoed behind bent steel stair rails.
The dawn was lovely.
Every minute or so, someone would come out to gaze.
I reflected upon this.
And then the sun rose.
Dawn makes white paint pink.
The railing casts an I Ching