I’m drunk on color. Intoxicated beyond sobering. If winter in southern Missouri is a straight shot of whiskey, springtime is a delirious jeweled wine. Our spring here has not disappointed, especially after last year’s long postponed arrival. Forest, meadow, yard have all cooperated. Here it begins in March when a tiny white blossom peeping up from the leaf matter on the forest floor brings me to my knees for a close-up. Soon the redbud trees unfurl their purple lace against the black bark woods still bare but budding. And the greens! How can there be so many shades of green in April? Then, the eternal gift of the Dutch, tulips, make gardens of even the lowly parking lot medians. Mornings teem with birds; blue buntings and orioles even deign to make an appearance. My passion is nature photography, yet people, buildings, even the sky pop with color and mad abstraction in spring. It never lasts long enough to capture but a fraction of it. For a photographer, it’s a dash to catch this blooming that often seems set on time-lapse. I was driving my niece for ice cream one afternoon and we passed an old round barn gripped by fingers of an iridescently green vine. The thing was absolutely lit in the April sunshine. But, no time to stop, then it rained. And rained. When I returned a few days later to photograph it, the vines had lost their iridescence and thickened to obscure the unique architecture of the barn. Sigh. But spring is a wine buzz, fine but fleeting, leaving us to anticipate next spring’s vintage. I call this photograph Spring Quarry. The greens are as pleasing as the granite and blue sky.
Copyright 2015 RC