In order to impose some actual exercise on my generally sedentary existence, I take regular walks around the neighborhood here in Old Lake Highlands (Dallas). When not in a hurry to get back to work (home office), I bring along my camera.
Aside from the unfortunate necessity of having to cross or parallel the occasional busy street, this routine outing takes me through a peaceful residential setting, rendered almost pastoral by well established trees (the homes here were built in the ’50s) and the nearby designated natural area, bordering on parklands surrounding White Rock Lake.
Along this route — which I vary as much as possible by reversing direction, altering approaches, and the like — there are certain landmarks, or mileposts as I like to think of them, that keep me grounded and serve as friendly reminders that I’m on familiar ground.
(Not that I don’t enjoy adventure – but that’s another blog post.)
Some of these features immediately cried out to have their pictures taken, while in the case of others, only a long acquaintance made it clear to me that they’d make interesting photographic subjects. (Familiarity doesn’t always breed contempt.) Of some of the former, I have numerous pictures, taken in various lighting and in different seasons; of the latter, I often have taken only one image, and will undoubtedly never take another — the thing, having been once recorded, merges again into the background blur.
You could never convince me that the habit of photography wouldn’t serve to make a poet of even the most left-brained analytical boor. There’s something about pulling an object out of its context (through framing) and imbuing it with importance (through study) that reveals a previously unhinted-at essence — an almost spiritual underpinning — an improbably meaningful presence amidst the clutter of creation.