Sunday, December 30, 2018

Only in winter

It's a (leafless) jungle out there.

Winter expands my horizons, at least in the deciduous forests and shrubby fields. The concealing curtains of green have fallen, exposing the hidden scenes beyond. Creeks, only heard before, never seen, appear. There are pools and interesting logs and old bird's nests. Mushrooms in strange places, lichen mounds, wintering fruits ...

There's a downside, though. I'm usually standing on wobbly footing; a slippery log, bouncing moss cushions, a network of dead twigs. And the empty branches where the leaf curtain was are still in the way, making it difficult to approach more closely. And the wind is blowing, making the branches dance. I keep the camera on autofocus; there's no way I can keep up with the jittery scene.

Even the camera is confused. "What are you looking at? That red thing? No? That bit of green over there? That branch ... oh, it's gone ..."

And sometimes it halfway manages to find what I wanted it to see.

Rose hip, with raindrops and bokeh. And spiny branches.

Mushrooms growing out of a dead tree trunk.

Oyster Bay, from the inside of the lagoon, from the end of a trail that, in summer, is almost impassible, where the grasses and reeds tower over my head and the mud is treacherous.


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