Overwhelmed by Grace
I see the world through the lens of a camera – framing everything that catches my eye, evaluating what angle would look best, which lens I'd use if only I had a camera in my hand. Unless I consciously turn it off, this is pretty much how I see everything. Other people see the big picture. I see the world in its details. The wholeness of life overwhelms me; I can only take it in digestible bits.
Like this tree trunk. It's perfection. The trunk twists gracefully, fallen across an idyllic little stream gurgling over perfectly polished stones. The fungi growing off the side of the tree adds the sort of detail that makes my heart beat faster. I couldn't have designed it better than Mother Nature created it.
Most of the world – outside of books – held little interest for me before I started taking photographs. Nature and the outdoors were okay. I appreciated some things – like Alpine peaks and meadows in flower, trees bursting into flame in autumn - but mostly I was ambivalent, more content indoors – usually reading a book – than out.
I'm still very much an amateur photographer, messing up over and over until I finally hit on what I want. A lot of it's luck. I can usually frame the picture in my mind, and sort of have an idea the effect I want, but the technicalities are often beyond me. So I take photo after photo, adjusting this, that and the other, until I get the best picture I can. Then I take another dozen, just to be sure.
But this tree was already so perfect I took only three shots. Wouldn't you know it, it was shot # 3 I liked best. Good thing I didn't stop sooner.