Algy had not needed the weather birds to tell him that a change in the weather was on its way, for a thick haze out to sea had become more and more dense as the week progressed, eventually blotting out the islands entirely, and on Saturday the sky clouded over completely and the spell of fine, dry weather was at an end. By the evening it was raining…

So when Sunday dawned cold, wet and windy, Algy was not even surprised by the ice that was mixed in with the squally showers of rain, for that was typical of mid-April in the wild west Highlands of Scotland; he confidently expected the rain to turn to sleet by nightfall.

At times, however, the sun managed to break through, and although the wind was icy and the the "feels like" temperature was near freezing, it was not too unpleasant if one kept close to the ground. So Algy found a spot where the wind was busy creating a temporary magical carpet while the bees still buzzed in the blossom overhead, and as the delicate white petals floated down around him, Algy opened his book of poetry and read:

Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at table at dinner with the rest, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring; These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place. To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same. To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships with men in them, What stranger miracles are there?

Taken 10 days apart.

Changing conditions, changing moods

I’ve often mentioned on other forums that I keep returning to the same location time after time. A practice that some might find tediously boring, while others may see revisiting a location as an integral part of how they go about their photography. I’m very much in the latter camp, albeit there are a number of reasons for this.

The first is that as I don’t drive, I tend to do the same seven walks around Keynsham that I can reach on foot. When I go slightly further afield, it’s by train to city locations such as Bristol or Bath – or going away on the occasional short break. The second and probably the most important reason why I keep returning to the same locations is that having learned to slow down, to look and be absorbed by my surroundings, I find that they never look the same from one visit to the next.

An important part of my photographic practice is to repeatedly go back to a location to observe how the passage of the seasons, the weather conditions, and the interplay between them, affect the look, atmosphere and mood of a location. I think the two images above which are pretty much the same view and also, give or take a few yards, shot from the same location, are a graphic illustration of what I’m trying to achieve!

I like to think that my photography reflects how I’m in tune with the passage of the seasons. I hope that comes across in my images. Being in tune with the seasons is to a certain extent, being in tune with the cycle of life. Something that as I approach three score years and ten on this mortal coil, I’m becoming increasingly aware of. Not least because I objectively have only a decade or so left, possibly less than that.

With all of this in mind, I want to fully appreciate what I have on my own doorstep. I don’t want to be chasing around all over the place in search of the new and the novel. For however long I may have left, I want to feel grounded in the countryside surrounding the town I live in. In part, how I go about my photography is trying to create a sense of belonging where I am.

Also, in a restless, novelty obsessed age where attention spans are being massively eroded, it’s about learning how to slow down, look, and appreciate what I see when I’m out walking. It’s about learning how to properly pay attention, noticing what’s changed and is different each time I’m out. It’s about trying to take a few steps back from the modern world, reconnect with nature and feel grounded again.