It was foggy this morning and I was excited to get to church and see how the fog would influence the pictures I took today. What tone would the fog set? How would it affect the animals? How would it affect me, because out there with the trees and the fog, it wasn't too hard to imagine you were at the top of Jack's beanstalk, walking through the clouds.
It was mostly quiet. There was a rabbit. There are almost always rabbits. There were things scurrying through the brush. There are always things scurrying through the brush. And then there was a flutter of wings and there about six feet away, sifting through the dried out pine needles, was a mourning dove.
It was the first time I had seen one of the small birds on the ground. The herons like the ground and the water. They're rarely in trees, but the blue jays and cardinals and doves like the trees.
It took me a second to figure out what the dove was doing, poking through the pine needles and then I realized it was shopping, not for food, but for nesting supplies.
Everything I find is about perspective. The bird on the ground is different than the bird in the tree. It has different goals. It's more vulnerable on the ground.
Even the light changes if you take a step to the left or the right. A step to the right, a tree stump. A step to the left and sunlight, Godlight, streams through a break in the trees.
Zooming the camera out, there is a leaf with a hole chewed through the middle. Zoom the camera in and now that hole is a window, revealing the leaves and branches on the other side.
Fog has a way of distorting things. We drive through the densest fog and can't see more than few feet beyond our headlights, but then we break through into the sun. Meanwhile the car a hundred feet behind us is wondering if they will ever see the light again.
The key here is, of course, moving. Up, down, left, right, forward, reverse. If you don't like what you see, move. Sometimes all it takes is a millimeter to change our lives.
It was mostly quiet. There was a rabbit. There are almost always rabbits. There were things scurrying through the brush. There are always things scurrying through the brush. And then there was a flutter of wings and there about six feet away, sifting through the dried out pine needles, was a mourning dove.
It was the first time I had seen one of the small birds on the ground. The herons like the ground and the water. They're rarely in trees, but the blue jays and cardinals and doves like the trees.
It took me a second to figure out what the dove was doing, poking through the pine needles and then I realized it was shopping, not for food, but for nesting supplies.
Everything I find is about perspective. The bird on the ground is different than the bird in the tree. It has different goals. It's more vulnerable on the ground.
Even the light changes if you take a step to the left or the right. A step to the right, a tree stump. A step to the left and sunlight, Godlight, streams through a break in the trees.
Zooming the camera out, there is a leaf with a hole chewed through the middle. Zoom the camera in and now that hole is a window, revealing the leaves and branches on the other side.
Fog has a way of distorting things. We drive through the densest fog and can't see more than few feet beyond our headlights, but then we break through into the sun. Meanwhile the car a hundred feet behind us is wondering if they will ever see the light again.
The key here is, of course, moving. Up, down, left, right, forward, reverse. If you don't like what you see, move. Sometimes all it takes is a millimeter to change our lives.
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