I have been doing a 365 project since September 1, and am happy to report that I’ve been keeping up with photographing something daily to post to our Flickr group. Some days I take a lot of photos. Other days are not very inspired, and I struggle when I realize it’s bedtime and I haven’t picked up a camera all day. Should I let it go, just this once? Then I start looking around at the accoutrements of my everyday life, hoping to see with new eyes something that might make a photogenic subject. By lamplight, of course, since I dislike using flash. Some of those late-night desperation shots, to my surprise, have turned out to be among my favorites.
But all of that is really irrelevant to my Photo-Heart Connection this month, because when I looked over all my January images, the one that spoke to me was not one of my 365 photos at all. Instead, it was this one:
This image was taken on the first day of the new year. Friends from Canada had come down for a few days, and we’d driven out to try to spot some snowy owls that had been reported nearby. We were all thrilled by some good sightings of the beautiful birds, but it was wicked cold and we were glad to head back to our friends’ condo for hot coffee and tea, cookies and conversation.
I was drawn immediately to the window. I used to live in this same building, a renovated old industrial mill next to the river, and always loved the views of the rushing water and the neighboring town on the other side. But this day as I looked down, I was captivated by this view. The snow-covered ground, the fence alongside the drop to the frozen river, the small bare tree and empty bench. The black against white. It’s so clean, almost a blank slate — except for that single set of footprints. Lonely? Or merely solitary? (They are not the same, you know.) A bit of mystery, a story, whatever I choose to read into it.
The scene outside was in stark contrast to the light and warmth within, and as I look at this photo I remember that. Through the cold heart of winter, in spite of time and distance, there’s friendship to sustain and cheer us. Under the ice, the river still flows to the sea. Under the snow, the grass merely sleeps. The seasons will turn. Where will my own footsteps take me? I’m looking forward to the rest of the story.
I’m linking to Kat Sloma’s Photo-Heart Connection for January. It seems like this month has passed in a rush, and I haven’t posted since last month’s PHC. It’s not that I haven’t thought about my blog, but rather that I haven’t felt I had much to say. I’m grateful to Kat for hosting this monthly practice that pulls me back and provides a bit of an anchor for me here.