A quick stay in Florida's capital

On assignment in Tallahassee, Florida's capital, there was precious little time for gallivanting after the 325-mile drive from Melbourne. After sunset, I snapped one shot -- seen above -- of Apalachee Parkway, which leads to the state's two Capitol buildings in the background. The skyscraper is the new one, and the smaller, traditional-looking, domed structure is for historic purposes. The best part about this photo is that it shows a hill -- in Florida. Go figure.

In search of late-night grub, I strolled around the neighborhood near the Capitol and captured this shot, with my iPhone, of the old building and a half moon.

Storms to the west and the resulting anticrepuscular rays

Tonight, towering anvil clouds on the western horizon filtered the sun's rays, causing a decent display of anticrepuscularays in the east. The thunderstorms were west of Orlando -- quite far off. But whenever there are thunderclouds to the west, the Space Coast sees this atmospheric phenomenon -- though its weather isn't directly affected. Saturday's rays seemed more pronounced than usual. I was enjoying some football and salsa in Rockledge at the time.

I didn't have a clear shot of the storm because of houses obstructing my view. But here's the southern edge of the anvil.

A crescent moon comes close to setting with Venus.

Dinner and a show in the sky

Click for high-resolution panorama. On Sunday -- after the usual 18 holes of golf -- I dined at Port Canaveral's Milliken's Reef, where an inattentive, dimwitted waiter served me a Diet Coke with scallops in a sweet rum sauce. I've had better. In Maine. The Coke was good, though. I went there with some friends and their children, who enjoyed catching the three big cruise ships sail into the Atlantic Ocean. But after the meal was when my kind of show started: a severe thunderstorm that was rolling south. The above panorama was made from 16 photos snapped later at the beach in the nearby city of Cape Canaveral.

We clearly finished eating at the right time. A downpour was imminent.

The wind picked up, and the birds scrambled.

I left Port Canaveral in search of land that offered a better vista of my natural surroundings. There simply were too many ships and restaurants blocking my view at Port Canaveral. So, I found the nearest public beach with free access.

These shots of the storm's underside remind me of the Milky Way at night.

The wind blew sand across one of Brevard County's widest beaches.

An old man watched the sea and the people bathing in it, as thunder rolled.

The beach's curvature signifies the southern reach of Cape Canaveral, the actual geographic feature, not the city. The towers are part of Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, where rockets blast off packed with military and commercial satellites.

Light peeked through part of the storm. But it started to sprinkle.

Sea oats swayed in front of a layer cake of color.

A good wide-angle shot was in keeping with the upcoming day of remembrance for 9/11.

This was probably the first time I've noticed the beacon from the 60-foot Cape Canaveral Light. Because the Florida coast lacks rocks and fog, I sometimes have difficulty fathoming the need for lighthouses on it.

Rain was near. The storm tracked on a southerly, almost southwesterly course. It started to pour, so I drove south along the ocean.

Before making it to the mainland, I stopped on the Melbourne Causeway and tried a few six-minute exposures of lightning. It was more than a half-hour before sunset, but the sky was fairly dark. I closed down the camera's aperture to allow such a lengthy shutter speed.

The worst of the lightning was distant, though a bolt did strike nearby as I carried my tripod across four lanes of traffic in the pouring rain. I figured the cars were more of a danger to me at the time. This shot's light streaks indicate that the camera moved during the exposure, likely because it was shaken by the wind. The National Weather Service recorded gusts in excess of 60 mph, and it was the first time I've had to hold onto a tree to stay upright during a storm.

Tranquil sunset as fierceness brews in the Atlantic

Earl, a major hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean, pushed some high waves to the Space Coast this week, and I was charged with covering the conditions Wednesday. 'Tis a rough assignment to drive to Cocoa Beach, stroll on the sand and snap photos. But toward the end of my time on the beach, there was some relief: a beautiful setting sun. Crepuscular rays filtered through the clouds nicely. For the first shot above, a pelican was in the frame.

These were not storm clouds, just some puffy cumulus to the far west. Aside from the horizon, the sky was clear blue: another atypical day in this abnormally arid summer in Florida.

I, and many of the other beachgoers, were fascinated by the shadows cast by the clouds. A woman lying flat on the sand noticed me taking pictures, turned around and saw what I was shooting. She was thrilled. She shook her napping husband quite violently for a minute, yelling at him to wake up. He finally did. I hope he wasn't disappointed at the sight.

The real reason I was at the beach was the danger presented by Hurricane Earl: rip currents and 8-foot waves. Those swells are expected to hit 13 feet Thursday. The most horrible thing in all of this, however, is the poor use of punctuation in the sign to the left. That should be "swimmers," not "swimmer's." There is no need for possession here. And the sign to the right contains an error of fact. "Rip tides" are not the same as "rip currents." The sign meant "rip currents."

This is the last shot as I left the beach.

On my way back to the newspaper, I stopped quickly along the Pineda Causeway over the Indian River, just north of Melbourne. The sun really started to set.

This is one of the best sunsets I've seen this summer. I don't often get out during the golden hour because it's a prime writing period for me at work. Ideally, I'd be roaming around Brevard County all the time for my job.

Earlier, while I was driving, a cloud similar to this one was somewhat in the shape of a certain rodent's ears. The shadow it cast was, of course, magnified, making it look even more like Mickey Mouse. How typical of Central Florida. Hard to describe, but it was cool. Believe me.

In one of my favorites of the evening, sea birds fly through the frame. Oh, and coincidentally, I find it ironic that my home state of Maine has been hotter -- well into the 90s -- this week than Florida and that it's more apt to be hit by Hurricane Earl than this state ever was.

I snapped one last shot as I climbed back over the berm of rocks separating the roadway and the river.

Gust front ushers in a rare thunderstorm

Click for high resolution. On Aug. 7, this gust front moved southward over my location on the Pineda Causeway just north of Melbourne. I created a panorama of the thunderstorm from 15 separate images. But somehow in the blending process, Photoshop misaligned the photos, so the horizon is not consistent. In dealing with so many high-resolution photos, this process is time-consuming, and I didn't feel like doing it all over again, so this is the best it gets.

The storm brought a little rain and a few claps of thunder.

But for the most part -- like most systems this summer -- this one was a dud.