So I set out, as I do this first week of May for the past ten years, to become immersed in fernery. Â A nearby glade is famously rich in pale spring greens of a half-dozen ferns and the lighting of a morning is excellent.
To my dismay, a tree had fallen across the middle of the meadow. I was disappointed–until I glanced up the steep hillside above the meadow. Not only was it equally as rich with ferns of a variety of ages and types, but the steep pitch let me shoot at eye level while standing downhill of the subject.
And the light–just glancing over the east ridge at 915, cast its rays on first one grouping, then another, allowing shots facing both towards and away from the light.
Suffice it to say, I became lost in time and space–it is called FLOW–for a good hour, after which I felt like I’d cut and loaded a couple of truck-loads of firewood. Holding position on a 45 degree grade is a kind of photographic yoga not for the faint of heart.
[flickr_set id=”72157644506956026″ open_originals=”true”]