I think taking
photographs is like getting to know someone; like falling in love. I am always
falling in love, this way. I'm just walking or driving or going to do an
errand, or on a walk, and suddenly a sight hits me, as if I walked into
something. Bam. I think we are all like this, only with different types of
things. For me, it is visual, and out in the world.
I suppose if I lived in a city, the
subject matter would be very different. But I need the quiet and to be
surrounded by living things, living their lives in the way that they do, so I
every day know that I'm grateful I am not irrevocably tied to some other area.
Although I imagine I would have simply fallen in love with what was there, too.
When I catch sight of something, it really
reminds me of seeing my husband the very first moment. It was a hard hit, for
both of us. Hard hits don't always turn, fairy tale, into relationships, or
long relationships. And lest we forget, relationships are for the most part
much much hard hard work, building and figuring things out and enduring and
compromising and blah blah all that stuff. Tough stuff.
But then, sometimes you get to know the terrain, and the ways of
the environment become understood and peace is chosen; and there are so many harder
more pressing matters than your large or small heartbreaks or disagreements or
distresses or irritations, that the large horrid or by-the-skin-of-your-teeth
stuff that comes up and endures and then hopefully settles, makes your old
preferences and crabinesses look so terribly petty, that you let go. You let go
and let them slide by each day, and ride the wave of loving someone, and just
seeing how good a person you can be, and where the wave leads. Because there
are no guarantees, and sometimes it crashes on the shore and off they go and,
the end. Sometimes it endures, and you've let go of your grievances and relish
what is true and precious.
But I was talking about falling in love
with a sight you pass by. Pulling over. Putting on the blinkers. Grabbing the
camera. Watching for passing cars. Getting out of a car, in this instance. And
then settling yourself down, into the place.
That's what it was , here. Looking to the
left, where the stream swirled into wild rose hips and tangles of growing things
and some bittersweet, flowing below the road, on that snowy dark day last week.
It's like you circle the area, and it
whispers to you. You listen, and begin
taking shots. Like this, like that; closer, from this angle, and you hone in.
You begin to feel the place, and it speaks to you, as you settle down and
gradually begin to really see what is before you.
You see them
conferring, speculating, but you are
drawn to the old old bridge you have passed by for years. The meandering
stream. The faint and sublime hint of the hills far behind the curtain of
snowing. The elegant ochre Willow standing with such poise, at the edge of the
field. The rich evergreens at the side of the curious telephone poles, one of
them leaning, almost as if speaking, or having a certain personality. As you
somehow become subdued by the rich winter colors of the waters and beautifully
tangled grasses and the falling snow pattering about you, it's own song,
gradually covering everything.
And you begin to see
one way, and take the shot. Another entirely different perspective, and take
the shot. As if you have met someone, listened and watched them do something or
interact in a crowd, and you are slowly circling them, learning about them as
you pull in closer and closer.
Knowing that everyone can sing. Everyone can dance. Everyone can share moments from their lives. And it's not about being good or not. It's about experiencing what moves us, and seeing what moves others.
And then, you are filled. With land love.
Growing things love. Season love. Love of quiet distant hills. Of piquant
telephone poles, and old old streams. Red Elderberry branches revealed only
come winter. All of it filling your heart and delighting you to your core.
Falling in love. Over and over and over.
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