Category: Art

A Review of the Netflix Series “Bodkin.”

“Bodkin” on Netflix masterfully blends intrigue and dark humor, offering razor-sharp storytelling and stellar performances. Dive into a world of enigma and suspense, where every detail demands attention and rewards you with compelling drama.

MichaelStephenWills11 Comments

The word “bodkin” evokes images of a small, sharp tool, deftly navigating the tightest of spaces. This precision and ability to cut through complexities is mirrored in Netflix’s new series, “Bodkin,” a masterful blend of intrigue and dark humor that carves out its own niche in the crowded landscape of modern television.

From the opening scenes, “Bodkin” plunges viewers into a world brimming with enigma and suspense. The series is a taut narrative tapestry, meticulously woven with threads of mystery, psychological depth, and unexpected wit. Its storytelling is as sharp and incisive as the tool it’s named after, deftly unpicking the tangled skeins of its characters’ lives and secrets.

The show is anchored by an ensemble cast delivering performances that are nothing short of stellar. Each actor brings a unique shade to their character, creating a rich mosaic of personalities that are as compelling as they are multifaceted. The writing is crisp and clever, peppered with dialogue that crackles with intelligence and dry humor. It’s this blend of sharp wit and deep emotion that sets “Bodkin” apart from its peers.

Visually, “Bodkin” is a feast for the eyes. The cinematography captures the essence of its settings, transforming them into integral characters in their own right. The lush, atmospheric shots heighten the sense of place and mood, drawing viewers deeper into the show’s intricate world. The pacing is perfect, unspooling its mysteries with a rhythm that keeps viewers perpetually on the edge of their seats.

However, “Bodkin” is not without its minor flaws. At times, the labyrinthine plot can seem almost too dense, requiring viewers to pay close attention to every detail. But these moments are fleeting and overshadowed by the series’ many strengths.

In summary, “Bodkin” is a razor-sharp triumph, a series that cuts through the clutter with its incisive storytelling, brilliant performances, and visual splendor. It’s a show that demands and rewards attention, a true gem in Netflix’s ever-expanding treasure trove of content.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Catherine A. and John Mattison

Quaker Settlement Series 1

Discover the solemn beauty of Quaker Settlement Cemetery through my lens, where intricate slate headstones whisper tales of early settlers, intertwining family lore with the artistry of marble willows

MichaelStephenWills16 Comments
Taken from Perry City Road, NYS Route 142 on an early November afternoon.

On my way to Taughannock Falls, November 6, 2019 (see my post “Cuteness Break”, the first of that series) I explored a different route and came up this cemetery set among an appealing pine grove.

Click photograph for a larger view. To do this from WordPress Reader, you need to first click the title of this post to open a new page.
A view of the Quaker Settlement Cemetery, taken from Jacksonville Road, NYS Route 143, on an early November afternoon.

Located in the town of Ulysses, New York there is a Quaker Settlement church a few feet further west on Perry City Road. I have Quaker ancestors, so took the opportunity to peruse the family names. The stones were unusually beautiful and touching, mostly local slate, some with intricate carvings.

Here is a headstone for two young people of the same family name. The white marble carved in the form of a willow, from the flowing lines and, knowing how our willows green up springtime, it calls to mind the same youthful greening as appropriate for two young people who lived 22 and 15 years.

Analysis of the dates, given in the following capture, tells the story of an young woman, a baby born 5 months after her death and who followed his aunt 15 years later.

Catherine A. and John Mattison
Catherine A. Mattison Born 1792/1793, Death March 13, 1815. Lived 22 years.
John Mattison, Death December 2, 1831, Born August 15, 1815 (5 months after Catherine’s Death), Lived 15 years, 3 months and 18 days.

I have a great aunt who also died young with a headstone naming her mother and father. Here is the granite headstone of Mary R. Daughter of George & Margarett Wills Died Oct. 3, 1886 Aged 20 years. Saint Mary of Assumption Cemetery, Sweetwater, New Jersey. My grandfather James Edward Wills was 9 years old at his sister Mary’s passing. He must have attended her church service and internment, standing at this spot.

Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills

Nesting Chronicles: The Life of A Cayuga Lake Osprey

Imagine you’re soaring with ospreys over Cayuga’s shimmering waters, preparing the nest, embracing the ritual of spring—a majestic cycle of life awaits you.

MichaelStephenWills17 Comments

As the first warm breezes of early spring ruffle the chilled waters at the south end of Cayuga Lake, anticipation rises in me. I am a female Osprey, returning alone from far to the south along the old sky-roads. We do not migrate as a pair; my mate often reaches the nest ahead of me to reclaim the site and begin repairs. Still, this is the place we claim again, season after season.

Two Osprey perched on the nest near the Birding Trail of Cass Park. Cayuga Lake in the distance.

On arrival I wheel high above the shoreline, searching for the platform we left to winter. There it stands—the tall sentinel above the lake. He is there, too, calling once as he lifts, and the rim already shows the first fresh sticks of the year. Against the bright sky the nest looks rough-hewn, yet every branch lies to a purpose.

Two Osprey perched on the nest near the Birding Trail of Cass Park.

As I settled onto the platform, tthe familiar tilt of the timbers and the dry rattle of last year’s sticks steady me. I meticulously inspected our creation, the repository of our hopes and future lineage. My mate and I ferry fresh twigs and weeds, wedging them into the rim and lacing the walls tight against the spring winds.

In due time, beneath the sheltering rim, I laid a small clutch of mottled eggs—the culmination of our bond, the promise of continuity. Through the weeks that follow I keep them warm and dry, turning them with my beak and settling the heat of my breast upon them. My mate does the heavy work of provision—fish after fish to the rail—and stands guard, calling when intruders drift close. Now and then he eases onto the eggs while I feed, but the watching and warming are chiefly mine.

Two Osprey perched on the nest near the Birding Trail of Cass Park.

The world around us burgeoned with life. The lake’s surface now rippled with the activity of fish – a bounty for our growing family. Days turned into weeks, and our vigilance was rewarded as the first cracks appeared in the eggs. The chicks emerged, delicate yet voracious, their mouths agape for the nourishment we unceasingly provide.

Click Me for another Osprey Post

Thank you Candace E. Cornell of the Cayuga Lake Osprey Network for your helpful advice.

For further information: —–Poole, Alan F. ; 2019, “Ospreys: The Revival of a Global Raptor”; Johns Hopkins University Press —Mackrill, Tim; 2024; “The Osprey”; Bloomsbury Publishing

Enter your email to receive notification of future postings. I will not sell or share your email address.

Nature’s First Green….

…is gold, / her hardest hue to hold, / her early leaf’s a flower; / but only so an hour… Robert Frost

MichaelStephenWills4 Comments

You walk alone by the waters of Cayuga Lake in Stewart Park, nestled in the heart of Ithaca’s Finger Lakes, where Salix alba, the white willow, stands proudly along the shoreline. You’re immediately drawn to the flurry of yellow flowers, a stark contrast to the still chilly early March air.

The white willow (Salix alba), with its rough, gray bark, is beginning to dress in its spring finery, its branches teeming with tiny, starburst-like flowers. Each one is a miniature sun, casting a glow against the intricate lattice of branches. These aren’t the soft catkins of the pussy willow but the yellow inflorescences that are characteristic of the white willow’s early bloom, a signpost that winter’s grip is loosening.

These trees, you learn, are dioecious, with separate male and female trees. The blossoms you see are likely the male flowers, their stamens dusting your fingers with pollen as you brush against them. It’s this pollen that will soon beckon the bees, urging them to emerge from their hives and begin the work that sustains the ecosystem. You can almost hear the faint buzz, a prelude to the symphony of life that summer will bring. Return in midsummer to find the female catkins comprise numerous small (4 mm) capsules, each containing numerous minute seeds embedded in silky white hairs, which aids wind dispersal.

As you wander further, you note the presence of the white willow’s kin, other deciduous companions some still bare and stretching into the sky and others leafing out. You stand there, at the cusp of seasonal change, where the slumbering trees are on the verge of awakening, and you feel a kinship with them. Like these trees, you have weathered the cold, dark months, and now you stand poised to greet the renewal that comes with spring.

The stark, knotted forms of the white willow branches against the clear sky speak to you of endurance and resilience. These trees have weathered storms and droughts; they have been companions to the lake, mirrors to its moods, and now they are beginning to celebrate the cycle of rebirth and growth.

You take a seat on a bench, the cool wood through your clothes a reminder of the lingering winter. You gaze out across the lake, the water reflecting the brilliance of the sun like a vast, rippling mirror, framed by the elegant silhouettes of the white willows. You feel the peace of the park seep into you, the slow, rhythmic lapping of the water syncing with your breath.

This is a moment of transition, from the sleeping to the awakening world. You think about the Salix alba, how its presence here is a testament to nature’s adaptability, thriving in the moist soil by the lake, offering shade in summer and shelter in winter, its branches a playground for the winds.

As you leave Stewart Park, you take with you the memory of the white willows in early March, the quiet guardians of Cayuga Lake. They remind you of the enduring beauty of nature, the seamless flow from one season to the next, and the quiet joy of standing witness to the first whispers of spring on the shores of the Finger Lakes.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Sea Turtle Portrait

MichaelStephenWills5 Comments

Portrait of a Sea Turtle with fish, sea floor and a rocket launch. 541 Washington Ave, Cape Canaveral, FL 32920 Near Cheri Down Park, Brevard County, Florida

Portrait of a Sea Turtle with fish, sea floor and a rocket launch. 541 Washington Ave, Cape Canaveral, FL 32920 Near Cheri Down Park, Brevard County, Florida

Along the bottom margin is the artist’s signature, “David Roth 2022.”

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Wind Whispers

In the crisp solitude of Cocoa Beach at dawn, witness a world untouched: golden light dances on waves, the chill air whispers, and a singular peace reigns over the empty shore.

MichaelStephenWills10 Comments

Upon Cocoa’s shore at dawn’s first light,
Where waves dance and shimmer with cold delight,
A lone watcher, I stand in solitude’s embrace,
Feeling the north wind’s brisk and biting trace.

The sand, a canvas of untouched grains,
Bears witness to the sun’s golden reins,
As it climbs, a fiery charioteer,
Breaking the grip of night’s lingering fear.

Windy February Sunrise

The sea froths in a wild, wind-driven churn,
As the day ignites and the horizons burn.
Forty degrees, a chill to the bone,
Yet in this brisk morn, I find myself alone.

No footprints mar the beach’s pristine face,
Save mine, etched briefly in time’s fleeting grace.
The gulls have fled the gusts’ relentless push,
Leaving the skies to the clouds’ rosy blush.

In this brisk February gale,
I watch the sun’s rays like warriors pale,
Brandishing light against the cold, dark sea,
A spectacle of warmth, just for me.

The beach, expansive, a desolate stage,
A world apart from the human age.
The waves, the wind, the chill, the light,
Compose a symphony of nature’s might.

I breathe in deep the saline air,
Each gust a verse in the morning’s prayer.
The sea’s rhythm against the shore,
A melody I’ve come to adore.

Here in this chill, this wind, this hue,
I find a peace profound and true.
Cocoa Beach at sunrise, a sight to behold,
A memory in my heart, forever enfolded.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Luminous Tension

Beneath the brooding storm clouds moving with silent intent, I stood, the air electric with the storm’s approach. Yet, turning east, the Sun’s Eye winked at the horizon, igniting the sky in defiance—a fleeting warmth against the impending tempest’s chill.

MichaelStephenWills5 Comments

Amidst the sprawling canvas of Cocoa Beach, a beachcomber such as I stands witness to the theater of the skies, a stage upon which the sun and storm perform their eternal dance. The dawn of this particular February morning brought with it a spectacle of dual realms, a chiaroscuro of the celestial drama that unfolds in minutes and lingers in the heart.

To the east, ‘the Sun’s Eye’—a fierce, glowing orb—peered over the horizon, its gaze cutting through the cool morning mist. The sea, a mirror of the skies, blushed with the hues of a blooming peach, its waves whispering secrets as they lapped the shore. Each frothy crest reflected the sun’s burgeoning fire, a symphony of light that sang of the world’s awakening. It was a moment of birth and beginning, the kindling of a day where the potential hung ripe as the citrus in the Floridian groves.

This radiance, however, was but a half of the morning’s tale. As I turned, facing west, the sky told a different story. Here, the heavens grew heavy with brooding storm clouds, a tumultuous sea of gray above the green. These undulating specters crept forward, a procession of ashen waves threatening to swallow the day’s young light. The air, charged with the tension of an impending tempest, hummed with the promise of nature’s fury.

Twenty-one minutes—a mere breath in the lifespan of the cosmos—was all it took for the scenery to shift, the mood to transform. To the east, the promise of warmth and the whisper of daylight’s caress; to the west, the cold omen of a storm’s embrace. This juxtaposition, this confrontation of fire and shadow, was a testament to the Earth’s ephemeral beauty.

In the presence of such a display, I—a mere beachcomber—was a sentinel between two worlds. The sunrise spoke to me of hope, of the unyielding rhythm of time that brings renewal each day. Its golden fingers painted the world in a palette of possibility, a reminder that each dawn brings its own story, its own song to be sung.

The approaching storm, in contrast, murmured of respect for the forces beyond our grasp, the humbling power that nature wields with indifferent grace. Its darkening clouds, layered like the furrowed brows of ancient gods, were a canvas of the world’s raw strength, its capacity for change, for washing the old away with a torrent.

Here, on this stretch of sand, the universe seemed to converge—a meeting point of opposing forces, a confluence of light and darkness, creation and destruction. In the face of such majesty, I found a profound tranquility, a sense of my place in the grand tapestry. For what are we but observers, participants in the grand design, bearing witness to the moments when the world reveals its contrasting character?

This morning’s display was a parable of life itself, written in the language of the skies. The Sun’s Eye, ever-watchful, ever-prescient, promised the comfort of the familiar, the steady passage of time marked by the constancy of its rise and fall. The storm, brooding and unpredictable, was a reminder of life’s uncertainty, the inevitability of change and the beauty found within it.

As the light grew and the darkness encroached, I stood at the crossroads of day and night, life and experience. With the sand beneath my feet and the salt air filling my lungs, I embraced the duality of existence, knowing well that each sunrise heralds not just the day, but the inescapable storm that follows. In Cocoa Beach, on the Space Coast, the universe had unfolded its dual nature before me, an eternal beachcomber, in the span of a single, breathtaking morning.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Near and Far — the last day of 2023

Discover a heartfelt story woven from the sands of Cocoa Beach on New Year’s Eve, where shells and stars intertwine, inviting you to ponder the delicate dance of near and far.

MichaelStephenWills10 Comments

On the last day of 2023, as the sun began its descent on Cocoa Beach, I found myself tracing the contours of a heart laid out in Ark Clam shells. Each shell, with its ridges and grooves, felt like a chronicle of the ocean’s whispers. This artful mosaic, set against the granular canvas of the beach, was a testament to the playful hands of time and tide. I marveled at the intention behind it, the human desire to create and connect, to leave a mark, however fleeting, on the vastness of nature.

I found this beach heart while walking on Cocoa Beach on the last day of 2023. It is composed of the various shade of Ark Shells. Ark clam is the common name for a family of small to large-sized saltwater clams or marine bivalve molluscs in the family Arcidae. These are the most common shells found there.

The shells were cool and firm under my fingertips, each one a unique piece of the year’s mosaic. Some were a pristine white, while others bore the earthy tones of the sea’s floor. I pondered the journeys they had taken, tumbling in the ocean’s embrace before resting here, on the threshold of a new year. The act of arranging them into a symbol of love felt like an ode to the past year’s collective joys and sorrows, an offering to the unknown adventures of the year to come.

As the day waned, my gaze shifted from the shells to where the water met the sky. There, a sailboat floated serenely, a silent sentinel between two worlds. It was a picture of solitude, a single vessel on the brink of the infinite sea, beneath the expanding dome of the heavens. On the horizon, the silhouette of a cargo ship whispered stories of distant lands and the ceaseless pulse of commerce and exploration that defined our modern era.

On New Years Eve 2023 this sailboad moored off North 1st Street, Cocoa Beach, Brevard County, Space Coast, Florida.

The beach was quiet, the sounds of the day giving way to the evening’s peaceful lull. The sailboat’s stillness was a stark contrast to the perpetual motion of the cargo ship, each representing different paths on the water’s vast canvas. One was an emblem of leisure and simplicity, the other of industry and complexity. Both near and far, they were the day’s quiet companions, their stories part of the fabric of the Space Coast.

As twilight deepened into night, the stars began to emerge, one by one, until the sky was a tapestry of celestial wonder. With my iPhone 14 Pro Max, I captured this cosmic dance, the constellation of stars that had been the silent witnesses to Earth’s revolutions. The constellations, those mythic shapes that have long sparked human imagination, seemed to hold the secrets of what had been and what was to come. They were distant suns, their light traveling unfathomable distances to reach me, to reach us, as we stood on the brink of a new beginning.

Orion

I couldn’t help but feel a connection to the stars, a kinship with their ancient light. They reminded me that we, too, are part of this grand cosmic design, our lives stitched into the universe’s expansive quilt. On the beach, with the shells at my feet and the stars overhead, I was caught in the delicate balance of near and far—the tangible reality of the shells I could touch and the distant glow of starlight from ages past.

Orion, the belt and sword in center.

As the year ticked closer to its end, I stood between the intimate artistry of the shell heart and the boundless majesty of the star-filled sky, a lone observer of time’s relentless march. The Space Coast, with its unique blend of earthly beauty and human aspiration, was the perfect stage for this reflection. Here, on Cocoa Beach, I embraced the last moments of 2023, ready to welcome the new year, with its promise of continuance and change, its constant dance of near and far.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

“Some Enchanted Evening” Riff

Discover the charm of Cocoa Beach’s enchanted sunset where Olaf, the endearing snowman from “Frozen,” joins athletes in a celebration of imagination and sport on Florida’s magical Space Coast.

MichaelStephenWills10 Comments

Olaf, with his carrot nose and coal-button smile, is the epitome of the whimsy and innocence that fills the hearts of those who dare to dream. He’s the spark of childlike wonder that persists even as the day gives way to night. As the sun dips below the horizon at Cocoa Beach, the playful contrast of a snowman who loves warm hugs stands out against the backdrop of Florida’s Space Coast—a place known for its rocket launches as much as its sun-soaked shores. It’s here, on this stretch of sand, that imagination and reality dance in the twilight, blurring the lines between a tale from the silver screen and the tangible joy of a beach evening.

The presence of Olaf in this coastal setting is an unexpected delight, akin to the wonder of snowflakes in summer. He is more than a snowman; he is the manifestation of Elsa’s magic, a symbol of enduring friendship and the embodiment of the happiness that comes from simply being alive. His creation, a whimsical result of Elsa’s ice powers, speaks to the capacity we all have for creation and transformation. The Olaf suit, worn by a young athlete, represents not just a beloved character, but a beacon of joy and the power of sportsmanship that enlivens the USSSA National All State Championship.

Don DeDonatis, CEO of USSSA, speaks of the excitement of hosting a tournament that is a “celebration of talented softball players from around the country.” Indeed, it’s a parallel to the celebration of life that Olaf represents—where each athlete, like each snow crystal, is unique and contributes to the beauty of the whole. The tournament at the Space Coast Complex in Viera, Florida, is a tribute to the hard work and dreams of young athletes, much like the dream that brought Olaf to life.

The sunset photograph of Cocoa Beach, snapped in December 2023, is not just a capture of a moment in time, but a timeless reminder of the enchantments that life offers. The beach becomes a stage where each footprint tells a story, and each wave sings a song. It’s a place where memories are made, where the spirit of characters like Olaf can leap out of their fictional realms and into our world, if only for an evening.

Brevard County’s Space Coast is a junction where the vastness of space meets the intimacy of earth, where shuttles launch into the cosmos while children build sandcastles, and where a snowman can stand on a beach without melting, embraced by the warmth of the setting sun rather than the chill of winter. It’s a testament to the human spirit’s boundless creativity and our ability to find joy in the juxtaposition of opposites.

This enchanted evening is a tapestry woven from the threads of fantasy and reality, sport and art, the cosmos and the coastline. It’s where the horizon kisses the sea, where the sky becomes a canvas for the sun’s parting masterpiece, and where Olaf, our friend from “Frozen,” reminds us that magic is not just in the realm of fairytales but all around us, in every grain of sand, in every sunset, and in every heart that believes in the wonder of one enchanted evening.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Rose Gold

MichaelStephenWills23 Comments


Threaded with bird call

Folded sails greet the first light

A new year takes flight

The first sunrise of 2024 from Cocoa Beach, Brevard County, Florida.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved