There’s so much going on that it’s hard to know where to look. If I focus my camera on the vultures wheeling overhead, I miss the carpenter bees zooming underfoot. There are crane flies mating and irises blooming and new visitations of wonder in every corner of the yard.
It finally occurred to me, while taking these pictures, that I approach photography and writing from the same impulse. Every time I pick up my camera, pen, or laptop, I’m trying to tell a story. Or, at the very least, share an impression. And it always starts with noticing something. Today, I noticed a visitor “hiding” in the irises.
But how will I frame this story? Should I reveal its secret from the outset? Because the rabbit was not so well-hidden as it might seem, though I could gloss over that fact by photographing it at just the right angle, by restricting my point of view. A few steps to either side, and this particular story shifts from drama to comedy.
It’s an appealing metaphor, as I find words to be as quick and slippery as rabbits. I often end up holding a tuft of fluff, frustrated by the knowledge that something warm and alive has escaped my grasp.
Falling victim to our odd non-winter, one of my irises lost track of time and bloomed far too early. Its madness stokes my mania for spring. I’m restless and unfocused, tempted to open my windows despite the cold. Should I trust the iris? Perhaps it is a more reliable prophet than a sleepy groundhog…
Rae Spencer 