Meaning in Photography
The dog sees with fresh eyes. Walking with her in the morning, three days after the winter solstice, the hues of Grand Bahama are softly ablaze. Green grass is under bare feet, and nearby a tiled swimming pool reflects teal-tinged clouds.
The texture of a conch shell, a hermit crab on the grass, small star-shaped flowers. . . these appear as I pass by, not seeking for things.
Pausing to breathe and gawk, each stride takes time, for short pauses between the steps call forth, occasionally, a photograph. Framing these images is a question, in mind for months now: "how can I see with fresh eyes?" A camera will not answer this, but becomes a transient, tiny window to explore in wonderment.
Walking around one side of house, wings flutter. Bird song floats by and the lack of any human made sounds conveys an inner experience of living "wild in the wild." Images flow.