“Oh no,” she assured him hastily.
“No, I’m not really - I’m just a - I’m just a whole lot of different simple people.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tender is the Night)
I scrunch my nose as I look at EVERY picture I took at the lake the other day. I forced myself to shoot in harsh light because I needed a change and nature...and water. Something different.
All the pictures just suck. Bad.
Except I do like this one. And I remember shooting into the sun, with a tree branch sticking into my head. Desperate to find some angle where this tree, that looks normally so gentle and soft, didn't look ugly as you know F-word....
It's like the Seinfeld episode with the pretty/ugly girl and the light. Where she looks amazing only in the light of the diner booth. And a zombie other places.
Now this picture, I love how it wraps it's flowery branch fingers across the pictures and hugs itself.
And the way the light filtered through the petal made me melt.
I suppose like all things wild and free, stuck in harsh afternoon sun,
it shouldn't be expected to hold it's normal grace and poise all the time.
I'll probably cut this tree, this picture, the time of day
Myself
Some slack:)
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