Morning Song

Rarely, am I able to resist treating a photograph like a painter would treat a blank canvas. Sometimes I see in color.  Sometimes I see in texture, form, and light.  It never ceases to amaze me, how you can start out with something you are used to seeing every day (and can often take for granted), and create a completely alternate reality out of it.  For me, that's the beauty of photographic art.  I don't think I'll ever be a documentary realist when it comes to photography. The magic is just too alluring.  Keeping a photo journal has really helped me in a more personal way,  to appreciate the early hours of the morning, but it has also taught me to look at the exact same scene, repeatedly ... in new and different ways.  I am so fortunate to have this particular canvas to work with.  I know this, and I am really trying to treat that with the respect and gratitude it deserves.  

It's so beautiful how water meets the sky in this place I call home.  How they mimic each other and complement each other in absolute and unquestionable harmony.  I can't tell you how many times I sit on my bench down at the water's edge and think, wow... I wish I could share this with my friends in person. The way it feels when the mist is crawling softly across the glassy smooth surface of the water, as much as the way it looks.  How good it smells when you breathe deep and the scent of earth and water mingle with mother nature's interesting mix of floral perfume and pungent musk on the air.  The loud squawking of hundreds of species of birds, competing for your attention all around you as you try to untangle their calls and surprise yourself with how many  you have come to recognize. The joyful splashing sound of fish after fish, leaping and breaking the water's surface with glee, as if celebrating the absence of ominous lazy fisherman who smacked the alarm clock and went back to sleep with a groan.  Tomorrow ... I'll get up earlier to fish...tomorrow.... Ah but what will they miss, today?  What will I... if I make the same choice?

When I looked at this scene before me, I could almost imagine a Native American woman standing at the water's edge taking it all in before she begins preparations for another busy day. Her black hair lays in a silky waterfall down her back with just the slightest gentle breeze lifting it up and down at the edges. A small child with huge dark eyes stands beside her, silently watchful. Her hand rests gently on his head and they breathe together in unison. I quietly ponder whether I am seeing the echo of an image from the past in this place.  The spirit is strong here. They look up at me and smile and I smile back, before picking up my camera reluctantly, turning back toward the house, and once again whispering a prayer of thankfulness with a deep sigh for my home.  There are stories here. Echoes of lives that came before. Memories of my own children playing on this riverbank.  It all sounds so beautiful to me in these quiet morning hours.  And so begins another day...