I’m not great at making plans into photographic realities. Something always seems to alter the course. Sometimes even the trail itself becomes faint, or comes to an abrupt end, stranding me in NowWhatville.
Many have been the times I’ve journeyed long distances to places that seemed promising on paper, only to discover that my timing was off, or the weather got weird, or some small but crucial detail was overlooked, and I’m found face to face with yet another failure. The clearer my intentions were, the bigger the letdown befell.
Then somewhere in my thirties, I adopted a new attitude. I stopped constructing careful strategies and anticipating specifics returns. I loosened my grip on control, and I began instead to drift in the whimsey of my intuitions, literally wandering aimlessly, and waiting for something to happen. Planlessness provided painlessness.
Looking back now on cherished images, and recalling the actual circumstances of their making, it occurs to me that over half of them were made on the way to, or the way back from, the places where I had expected to find them. Magical moments were seemingly materializing around a bend in the road, as if waiting for my arrival.
This realization was revitalizing, and I no longer wanted to craft any itinerary. As long as I remained in motion, something was bound to present itself.
And so it happened tonight. I’m sure I’ve walked past this tree a couple dozen times over the course of a decade or two. But tonight it seemed to leap out at me.
What is the world magic that nudges me to take notice of this peculiar tree on this perfect night?
