I remember one spring, riding in my mother’s car on one of the highways of Long Island, and mentioning to her that the forsythia was blooming along the side of the road. She said she always loved spring, because it reminded her of being alive again, that winter felt like Death to her….
I’ve pondered her statement for most of my life, and while I love the exhuberance shown by the Earth each spring, I realize that I’m not so much a child of the seasons as I am a child of light.
I chase light through photography, I try to capture it in images.
I feel light.
And because the light has been waning until it reaches the Winter Solstice, I, myself, have been feeling whithered. But I also know that come December 22, the light will stay a little longer each day, and I too will face the sun and grow again.