Day: February 11, 2018

Being Here

The first weeks of the first year of being here are all mixed up with snow and ice, with dislocation and fear of falling, with car warning lights and a broken spring all limiting my travelling, the paths that I might follow. Still, I let the camera pull me outside and on a winter’s morning I already know there’s a safe and easy path that will lead me through the moor to a view to snow topped hills.

The weather here is so intense, so changeable. It dominates your thinking, it changes how you see. This week we’ve had ice, snow, hail, a night of gales and battering rain, and a day of the most exquisite sunshine, so lovely there was nothing for it but to sit in the garden for a while and simply soak up being here.

Every time I step outside: to the garden, to the bins, to the car, there they are, these noisy iridescent starlings. They call and click and chatter and whistle, swooping off and up and round and back. I knew that starlings mimicked but I wasn’t ready for how different they sound here, how they call with the sound of the sea. Even when they are not here I feel their absence, their missing presence.

The practice of photography helps me notice where I am. I am grateful for the familiarity of practice, for the fundamentals of the task. Watching colour, patterns, light.

I’m trying to build the habit of posting here once a week. Sometimes I feel I don’t have much to say, I’m too busy paying attention to simply being here.

The sky is twilight blue the whole way home, and the lochans by the roadside as the road bends and curves are the palest twilight blue, like the flashes of a torch, like the thumping of a heart.

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