As much as I love bringing you pictures every day of Hope, I am sometimes saddened by what a picture can't show you.
This morning I heard the hawk but couldn't find him. A picture can't capture his cry, which is somehow plaintive, despairing and demanding all at once. A picture can't hold the chuffing of a squirrel which somehow manages to sound like a baby's cry. A picture can't bring you the gentle cooing of the mourning dove even as it flies away startled.
A still picture cannot show you how the blue jay flies. Smaller birds flit from branch to branch, but the blue jay flies like a biplane in battle, diving through the leaves.
It was cold this morning, a biting cold. A picture cannot tell that story either.
A writer, a photographer, an artist. They can only take you so far.
In the end, life must be simply lived in order to be appreciated.
This morning I heard the hawk but couldn't find him. A picture can't capture his cry, which is somehow plaintive, despairing and demanding all at once. A picture can't hold the chuffing of a squirrel which somehow manages to sound like a baby's cry. A picture can't bring you the gentle cooing of the mourning dove even as it flies away startled.
A still picture cannot show you how the blue jay flies. Smaller birds flit from branch to branch, but the blue jay flies like a biplane in battle, diving through the leaves.
It was cold this morning, a biting cold. A picture cannot tell that story either.
A writer, a photographer, an artist. They can only take you so far.
In the end, life must be simply lived in order to be appreciated.
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