Early morning as the sun was just up, I looked out at the orchard where I'd put the flock last night. I love this sight. The sun so warm on their earth tones. It is peaceful. The dying stacks of fennel in the foreground add some blur, some motion–but it was a moment caught just as I saw it.
Later I took my camera outside. I can easily sit in the barnyard and take photos of the faces I love so much, or the vistas I see each day that make me feel at home, and grounded. Surely if I feel something from these moments maybe I can pass it on to a reader through a photo and it might create needed stillness.
But I forced myself to open up a bit, if even for one photo. How many views have I overlooked, or rushed by to get to something at the other end I know will be there? It's safe and comforting to go for what I know.
The view from under the Sequoia Redwoods near the Small Rodent Cemetery offered me another view of Old Barn. One might say the trailer adds no charm to the shot, but I saw it later on the screen and really liked it.
I think this next year is going to be full of new vistas. I feel something opening up. I guess it already has. The new book feels like it is leading to new things - things I can't even imagine now. It's birthing is inspiring ways to connect to a wider audience, a community. So I must keep my eyes open for those new vistas and not always rush to the comfort of an old view.
