Over the summer I had been so busy with the barn renovations, settling into my hamlet and trying to work a balance between my work – accountancy – and other projects that require a creative input that I had forgotten what I loved doing the most – photographing flowers, seed-heads and grasses. Ok I am quite creative with accountancy and tax work, but it has a room emptying affect if I introduce myself as a tax accountant! Sorry you can come back now, I wont mention that profession again….
But photography is far more fun, a long term project and I want to get back to it.
Feeling a few winter blues coming on, I went out today and took my time searching the hedgerows for pattern, shape, light and the hidden. I was pleased with the results and looking forward to working on them over this coming week – just a few tweak, nothing dramatic as I do prefer to work straight on the camera and not post production.
These photos – a caramel brown theme seems to be going on here – are from last autumn, two whilst in London’s Greenwich Park – the hydrangeas were turning and the delicate lace like petals reminded me of a hundred butterflies, the others are from near my home. Where the grasses swayed in the soft autumn sun last year, today everything was cropped by the mower. Every couple of years it is now apparent the French council have a huge manicure session of our farmland.
But there were still little floral treasures to be found and the forest up the hill from us has huge potential in the wonderful stormy light were are having, to get me out in my boots and have a prowl – just not on a Sunday. The locals go shooting and last week we spotted a glinting gun barrel a bit too close for comfort and I don’t think they will be expecting anyone to be shooting from a camera in the undergrowth. So another day.
And can anyone answer me this one – the French and dogs…no idea why they cannot control them. The dogs are all over the place when they take them hunting. They rarely return when called [ last week one owner actually had to follow his dog with his van and corner him in the village as the dog had decided it was more fun to run off] and there is a lot of manic shouting. Back in England dogs are given a firm, but respectful command. They rarely bark if quiet is requested to stay calm and they have an owner alertness I have just not seen here. Maybe it partially to do with the lack of exercise. Being taken out only weekly would be viewed as cruel back in England. But here it seems the norm. All that pent up energy has to go somewhere I suppose and that’s where the breakdown of communication occurs.
I used to have a cat. I big adorable ginger moggy. He would come when called, stop bullying his sister when I heard her cry and I would say in a stern voice – “Jasper is that you?”, sit when told to and would follow me to the station and return home when I turned the corner towards the station. I had to leave him with my ex when I moved out. He passed away this week – not old, an illness I am unaware of [communication not happening] and I missed him hugely. I never had to shout at him. He would have thought me totally disrespectful!