This morning, overcast and gray, there are no radiant webs in the pasture.
It’s entirely possible that, before such light presents itself again, the hay mowers will come and that will be the end of the orb weaver’s craft show across the road from my desk.
So, to reinforce what I was saying about the once-ness and the here-ness of every photograph and its role in memory and sense of place, I’m glad I found myself slogging around with the iPhone, wet to the waist, in yesterday’s first rays that crested the ridge. The light was right.
The color distortion is an artifact that comes from facing directly into the streaming sun with a camera that lacks a sun shade.
I could have photoshopped the violet-indigo flare out of the image. But that’s what this particular “eye” to the world saw. So be it. Click to enlarge.