Monday, December 21, 2015

to unwrap a present

I find a picture

“let me go over there to see if there’s a picture . . . “
I announce, and I go there,
and there is a picture waiting for me,
as if each is a present that I just need to unwrap,
today a particular juxtaposition 
of light and water and rock and wood
within my eye and open to my shutter,
an angle, a take, a frame
that I hold a moment, 
beauty, rightness, a photo,

some things shout of the picture inherent:
a vista, a waterfall,

 a sunrise,

 a sunset,

the smile of a toddler,

the twinkle in an eye,

though even with the shout,
choice and timing still matter, 

a photographer needs an eye
and needs to train the eye
to see if there’s a picture,
and, if there is, figure how to capture it
before it is gone,
or before we’re gone,

at times I search for a particular picture,
for example, I looked for years for snowy high mountains
above luxuriant flowers, and one day I found just what I wanted,
today I found a still pool of water with an intriguing reflection in it,

icicles above a dropping creek, 

and club moss assertive
with dappled sun and yesterday’s light snow below them,

I often check if there’s a picture, and often I find and unwrap it.

by Henry H. Walker
December 20, ’15

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