“To see in colour is a delight for the eye but to see in black and white is a delight for the soul” – Andri Cauldwell
And the sun was bold and brassy and the geese slumbered in the reeds, orange beaks in white puffy feathers
Then the breeze came up, ruffling the water and chasing the sunlight through the pine trees
The moon was early too, appearing shyly in the pale turquoise sky
And you could hear the silence, a vast expanse of solitude – utter bliss.
Sorting through some photos for printing (DH is an old fashioned kind of guy and likes to look through a “proper” album), I came across these two taken in the mountains July last year. Same image, one very early in the morning as the sun came up with a mug of tea in hand and the other late afternoon after a slog up one of the surrounding mountains.
They strike me as “lonely” images for some or other reason. Perhaps because of the absence of people or maybe because the windmill was on its own – whatever, I like the light as well. I’m sure there should be a fancy technical desription for it but I just like it.
The photograph was taken in the KwaZulu midlands last year, the story is just that – a story.
The creak of her chair woke her up. She started, caught in the threads of a wonderful dream. A dream where Jimmy was still here, where she would step out on the porch and see him tying up at the jetty and come striding through the wildflowers, home to her.
The sadness gripped her heart, now all she had was his chair. It matched hers exactly, he had thought she was a silly goose when she insisted on a pair but now it made her smile. She could see the sag in the strapping and the shiny patina on the arms, the only visible signs of the passage of time and a lifetime of being together.
Not always happy times she thought as she struggled to her feet, the war and the depression had taken their toll but they’d stuck together through all of it. Jimmy would have liked today, the water was quiet and the mist rolling slowly down the hills like someone was shaking out a blanket. What did he used to call it, like a painting by van Gogh or something like that. He was a dreamer, was her Jimmy. She shivered, suddenly overtaken by a cold gloom and wrapped her shawl around her thin shoulders. The sky was darkening and over the way she could see the cows turning for home.
Time to go inside, she thought, tomorrow she would be back tomorrow.
What do you do on the second to last day of the year? It’s an absolute scorcher at home and the best place is inside (well truthfully the best place would be in a swimming pool but failing that) and in an attempt to refine my muti-tasking abilities I find myself weeding photographs.
Today’s offering was taken in August 2011 at Mount Champagne in the Drakensberg (don’t laugh, I haven’t done this for a while) and was one of those passing, offhand snaps – just because.
I like it, nothing special mind you but it’s calm and peaceful and reminds me of good times in a gorgeous part of the country.
My sadly neglected blog remains in limbo as despite a transfusion of mountain air, I remain unable to write anything of any use – to me or the world for that matter. My ability to wax lyrical about life and living remains on pause so for now, photographs. Ever since the acquisition of my nikon, the whole black and white thing piques my interest but without the colour factor, the choice of subject matter gets a little more complicated.