There are certain immutable, unchangeable, perpetual signs of spring that come around each year regardless of whatever natural circumstances might befall our front yard. Henbit will always cast its purple pass over the brown buffalo grass, thunderstorms will always roll and echo across the plains, and these little yellow crocuses or, as I like to say however outdated and deprecated the plural may be, croci, will burst forth in the alcove between our garage and the east wall of our house. The delicate yellow flowers appear as though on cue, spread their petals during the day, close up tight at night, and then return to the ground after less than a week to remain in hiding until another year passes. It’s natural clockwork, and a fun reminder that winter will certainly end and the cold will too yet pass, and a harbinger of mild days and long evenings soon to come.
The thing is, each year when these little flowers show up I’m just not quite sure what to do with them–photographically speaking, anyway. I always think they will be cool photo opportunities, but when I bust out my camera and get down on the ground and take a few shots, the results never quite look like how I want them to look. I find that it’s often helpful to envision some kind of end result when taking photos and then basically work backwards from there: what do I need to do with my exposure settings, choice of focal lengths, etc., in order to make that happen? Those thoughts usually drive the process and, hopefully, lead to some kind of pleasing end result. With the croci (crocuses?) both the journey and the destination are always a bit of a muddle. That said, I still do enjoy the process and even the end result even if I don’t quite know what I have in mind or what I’m actually doing.
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