Photography practice in my lunch-break by the harbour. Colour, pattern, light. My fingers trembling in the cold north wind.green harbour rope
Tuesday evening and already I am office-weary, paper tired, screen glazed over.
‘I’m not going to practice today,’ I say to myself. ‘You don’t have to wonder all the time. Everyday doesn’t mean every day anyway. I’m too tired to wonder today.’
‘I understand,’ answered the moon, hanging fat and nearly full over the office car-park, hanging fat and nearly full and dizzy white and brilliant clear, enough to make you gasp with wonder.
Another day of wind and rain, the light never shifting past a state of half-dark. Another day with nothing to see, I think and then catch myself:
I mean another day with nothing to capture and I shift my gaze to what I can see: the muted amber browns of the moor in the rain, the way the wind moves over the slate-grey loch, and ruffles its surface.
Watching the heather in winter and I had forgotten how much the winter talks of summer coming, the promise made by flowers.
Feeding the birds before work ~ the silhouettes of starlings in the wind-blown over rowan, the loudness of the honking of geese.
The weather changes at the weekend and we’re blessed with two sunlit days, so mild in the sun by Loch Seaforth that I sit for a while without a jacket and watch the water. It’s so quiet down there, so peaceful, so still, I can hear the seaweed popping as it’s dried by the warmth of the sun.Loch Seaforth in February sun
The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.