How often do we get to play in a warm gentle unspoiled outdoors, doing something that leads us to a place, a stillness, where we are simply taking in the wonder of the bits and pieces of what is all around us?
Slowing our own time clock down to watch the crescent moon redden as it sinks into the ocean.
Floating on an ocean so still you have to tell the fish to stop jumping as they wreck the mirror of the surface.
Noticing that the sun actually bends the horizon as it sinks into the Gulf.
It is early in the year yet the air has a crisp dry stillness on this island that burns so easily, the charcoal of the last burn drawing on my pants as I gingerly move into the forrest from the shore.
Gator tracks in the mud that I lean out of the kayak to photograph, my camera inches from where he was a minute ago.
When hunting we do not think of comfort or discomfort, sand fleas bitting, salt in my eyes, cut foot, no water, moving dream-like.
I notice that over and over I keep walking into my picture, moving slowly with the camera eye till I compose a picture. Take it, then walk into it. My focus so singular I could not go anywhere else.
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