It's that time of year when the sun hurries across the southern sky, almost as if it's out there somewhere beside you, not above you; and when it does, on days like yesterday, it lays dramatic shadows down almost ridiculously. Trees seem monsterish. I can't help but think they like it; they're just so much bigger with those long shadows.
Yesterday was neither. I had some long shadows but little else--some naked trees and a half-frozen pond, all of it a block or two, as the crow flies, from our place. But I have a new phone, so I thought I'd take a shot or two to see how this new one (I lost my last one!) performs.
Nice. I'm impressed.
The definition and detail seems wonderful, even if there's not much to shoot at, even up close.
Even at a distance--here's iconic Alton, St. Mary's in the far background, the most beautiful church in the county on the county's highest hill.
Soon enough I'd sort of forgotten about the new phone and its remarkable camera. I was simply trying to line things up in compositions that might just be interesting--like these--
I was there long enough to watch the sun's Midas touch spread its beauty over everything, long enough to take in some long shadows over the kind of leathery world that's now in place for winter's reign. Just about anything looks beautiful in that glorious light that rises when the sun goes down.
I'd almost forgotten that when I used to head out with my camera, it really wasn't perfect landscapes I was after. I'd almost forgotten that old adage that photography helps us to see. I'd almost forgotten that it was nothing more or less than beauty I was after, just a few blessed glimpses.
This morning I'm thankful for an hour just down the road in a breathtaking place no one would judge such if they'd not looked.
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