Rain. Sunshine. Rain. Sunshine. I’d hoped to find the Virginia Bluebells blooming, water-droplet-covered in the fleeting breaks of sun that taunted me all day yesterday. But even by 10:30, the bluebells were still in the shadow of the ridge.
Instead I walked the logging road that is almost every day a part of our outdoor survey of what’s happening in our little realm. The ground underfoot was a soft sponge, rivulets running under my boots and steam rising where sun shafts struck wet twig, trunk and blade.
Surely I could find something lens-worthy to carry home. But something I don’t already have pictures of, I wondered?
Yes, I have other images of beech leaves, but not these beech leaves, not in this exact light and of this exact composition.
Can one ever have too many similar images? Do I stop thinking about spring, my work, my children because I’ve thought about those things before?