Often, I take photographs looking out over the ridge where we live to the hills and clay cliffs across the valley. You’ve seen some of them here.
Less frequently, I lift my lens toward the south because it’s just not as spectacular. And yet the view from there captivates me in a different way.
Early in the morning at certain times of year, while I wait for the Keurig to cough out my coffee, I stand at my kitchen window and look up at trees and sky and atmosphere and feel myself touched by the elusiveness of it all. These days, it’s far too dark.
Instead, I look from the south-facing window in our den later, or pause on the front step when I take Maya outside, and look up. Some days—many right now—low cloud wraps around the trees creating something mysterious, evoking a longing.
Yesterday, I grabbed my big girl camera and my wide angle 10-18mm lens and took a few shots. The images didn’t capture the feeling, so I switched to my 50mm prime lens and tried again. Closer this time.
Sometimes, though something’s right in front of me, I need to look through a different lens in order to see it. I’m switching lenses often these days. Trying different angles. Adjusting my focus. And examining it all with a creative eye in post processing.
More often than not I see something fresh.