Big, grandiose views. Gorgeous panoramic vistas. No one will argue that Lake Tahoe is rather pretty; especially in the winter and spring. All that deep clean snow, and the springtime melty bits, make the place seem at once untouched and idyllic, and peacefully inhabited.
From my point of view, much like the devil, the beauty is in the details. Along any road, trail, or footpath, there are millions of small, seemingly insignificant background elements that are on their own far more brilliant than their credit would indicate. These elements do not seek the spotlight the way the postcard inspirational wall hanging scenic views do; they are happy to sneak past the sight of the gluttons for scenery, and observe from the sidelines. But they are so important for sake of the whole picture. Apologies in advance for the cliche, but no one really wants to ignore the trees to enjoy the forest. Without the trees, a forest is nothing but greeney browney lines, hardly the stuff of awe. Even the rather tiny and a bit out of place have a certain something:
Besides, it was not their decision to get plonked down six feet from the water. They don't even realise (or perhaps they do) that once the runoff hits the lake, they will find themselves becoming aquatic evergreens. A bit sad, really, if I'm being perfectly honest.
Birds have a slightly unfair advantage. They are as a rule naturally rather pretty and are quite good at perching in very photogenic manners.
All well and good, that, but I am more interested in their other, more stroppy side.
On a psychologically predictable level, I find it highly poetic that even something with plumage glinting in the dawn light can turn its backside on what it deems unimportant (i.e. me with my camera and lack of feathers and wings).
Continuing with observations that reveal more about me than they do the subject of the observing, the broken, disused, and general rubbish of the world strikes a chord.
Whatever the cause of the destruction or disuse, the fact that some poor object cannot do the job it was created so to do is sad. Not cry into my beer sad, but rather wish better for an inanimate object sad. Unlike people (or so we like to think), a boat is made with a singular function or purpose in mind: to float, and theoretically to carry cargo of some variety. Excepting for self destructive tendencies, boats want to be able to do their job; dirty great holes caused by outside forces make that impossible, and without additional ourside intervention to repair said holes, this spells certain abandonment to the elements or outright death.
Some disuse is not nearly so sad. At the moment of idleness, one may wax distraught, but there sometimes is a sort of end in sight.
Barrring disturbances to underground pipes, a rusted, calcified water faucet will see use again once the temperatures rise and jolly boat-goers have need of a place to attach a hose. The very lack of snow on the surounding ground is a bit of an optimistic sight; spring is trying to sprung.
Some of the devilish details have less to say beyond a somewhat self-effacing, "Hullo, there. Do you think I'm pretty? I bet in a certain light, I might be picturesque, too..."
Or perhaps a more contented, "Not much to see here, but the day is lovely and the sun is warm. How are you?"
In the immortal words of Satchmo..."Wooooah. What a wonderful world!"
