The steep hill behind me faces north, and in the dead of winter the sun never clears the hill to shine on my house. But now, a month well past the equinox, it has crept north enough to slant through my oak trees. With glorious spring rains the light glows through the grass.
I love green peas. Big fat English shelling peas. Unfortunately the birds love the young sprouts and I have tried all sorts of tricks to keep them off my little crop. This year I finally listened to my father’s advice and built a scarecrow.
I knew my Ribes sanguineum was crying out to be photographed. A siren song really. She beckoned and seduced me away from the solitude of a day indoors, her charms naked and ripe for the camera. But where to start exploring this beauty?
“Photograph silence” he asked ? OK, I’ll give it a try: ———– I saw the silence slip away as the dawn, rushed in effortlessly; revealing the daffodils mute; in awe of the wondering sparrow’s “twee… twee …eeet ?” now silent. again. ———
What we see and what we capture with the camera are often different; too often if you are not careful to photograph with intent. What my mind’s eye sees when I enter my garden this time of year are yellow daffodils. But actually there are only a very few.