Why do people stop to savor their morning cup of coffee? To wake up? To have a quiet aroma-filled moment of pause before plunging into their day? To grasp a warm ceramic walking companion as they stroll their gardens? I don’t know; I’m not a coffee drinker. But as my day begins, and I step outside to survey my gardens, I unexpectedly catch a glimpse of…something beautiful. And I run for my camera

Click. Click.
What have I captured? A lightly sun-kissed orange blossom with its fresh adornment of early morning light: the sun’s rays are creating a diminutive play of light and shadow in the surrounding foliage. Color and form, tone and brightness are reflecting the light of the swiftly rising sun. It’s a dynamic movement. And so, I step out of my morning schedule and routine to catch the light.

On my tip toes, on my knees, pointing up, pointing down: I shoot in manual mode and my traipse through the garden becomes a real-time, hands-on experiment. There’s an immediacy to composition: tweeking each parameter: focus, depth of field and light options. Pale colors reflect more light than more intense and saturated hues: whitewashed adobe, weathered wooden fence, greyed patio cement. Each makes a difference to the subject and to the exposure needed to highlight the subject.

It’s learning on the fly; the lighting is changing moment by moment. And now I am sucked into intense focus. I’m no longer taking a leisurely walk in the garden. I’m on safari: making split second decisions, trying to capture my prey in the best possible presentation. Intense? Yes, but an effective foil to the demands of the day. The short excursion into the garden…with my camera…has postponed the worries and cares and troubles of the day. I am refreshed.

Better than a cuppa coffee; I have bathed my eyes in color and light.