Thursday, March 6, 2025

Street Photos ... San Jose CA Women's Marches and March for Our Lives

 Of all my photos over the years I am proudest of my street photography of the San Jose Women's March and San Jose March for Our Lives. The time period covered is 2017 through 2020.  During the Covid global pandemic the successful protest marches were halted. 

This is just a sample of my Women's March/March for Our Lives photos. I took at least 2000 photos and will have to revisit them. More of my photos on this subject can be found on my Flickr account. 

Street photography is my favorite. I believe it is time for me to take out my camera and get connected with the street again. 

 















We are the change. Love. 
Thank you for visiting.


Thursday, February 27, 2025

The Rowan

 My neighborhood is filled with Rowan down most every street. We have a Rowan tree in our backyard which soon after we moved into our house began to grow.  Since I never pluck out anything that sprouts in my yard until actually realizing what it is the Rowan sprout ... now a tree remains. 

Rowan trees are absolutely gorgeous in the autumn.  There is also a folklore that surrounds them. 


The Rowan Tree in Scottish and Celtic Folklore

"Rowan Trees are favoured in Scotland and are held with high esteem in Scottish and Ancient Celtic folklore. It is a tree said to offer protection in more ways than one and it was once forbidden to cut one down in the case of bad luck. If items were harvested from the then they were only to be used for the means of ritual and nothing else."

The Rowan Tree Folklore 


by jeanne rené

photo: jeannerené

The Rowan

 
Late September
the Rowan guard stands in bold choir outside of school,
  yielding to a soft whistle and show of red dress.  


As blue-beaked thrush flits
branch to last berry,
ruddy leaves rustle against
the spirits,

and the bird
stops its drunken revelry
to join the Rowan’s song
“Oh, children,”

winging atop, it flees.
“Oh, children,” the whispering trees
return the melody.
“Pass under me.”

At noon I hear
a chorus of play
drift over fences into my open window.
“Oh, children,” the heart murmurs.


copyright jeannerené  08.22.08