Our yard is composed almost entirely of chaos, and that is being charitable. Whatever shows up and holds on, grows. This year’s spring edition, aided by days of light rain mist (the forecaster’s words), is bountiful. I expect to see the cautioning Mower Ahead sign frequently in the coming weeks, as the county tries to keep pace with its flourishing roadside crops.
When yesterday arrived with clear, promising skies, with light fog dancing across the valley and wide-eyed dew drops hung on every blade and branch, I took my camera when I walked down to the road to fetch the newspaper. Tuesday’s news folded neatly into a back pocket (you couldn’t do that with Thursday, or Sunday), and then I started looking.
I’ve long believed that so-called macro photography, as we generally know it (that is, pictures taken at magnifications up to life-size, or 1:1), can improve our view of the Big Picture—it forces a person to see all the countless subjects that are literally underfoot. If you keep at it long enough it may translate into a heightened awareness of all that other, bigger stuff.
That’s why it took me an hour to get back to the house.
The soft, diffused light illuminated the smaller scenes, which seemed to call out for my attention with every slight shift of position. Wet grass + cold ground = numb knees, but that is easily, happily ignored at such times.
A neighbor’s cow watched for a while as I crawled around in the greenery, no doubt wondering why I wasn’t eating it and plotting, in its bovine way, how to get over to our side of the road. I assured him/her that there was plenty to go around, as there usually is, on both sides of the fence, although this probably fell on large deaf ears.