I walked around this morning saying howdy to the trees and flowers that surround our house and barn. There’s a green here this time of year that hurts my eyes and gets the photographer in me weak in the knees, and, when I sit down to write about what I have seen, the word "fecundity" comes to mind. The doug firs are a-bustin’ out their new, neon green growth, the birds are belting out songs that I’m absolutely sure translate as ”I’m in the mood for love,” and the frogs...well the frogs have got themselves a bawdy and deafening nighttime chorus going that tells me that our pond is a place of sex, sex, and more sex.
Fecundity. There’s a hell of a lot of fecundity going on out there, and it’s not just at our
place--our neighbors see spring’s showy bling in the woods and fields around their houses too. A friend down the road called me to let me know about a patch of trillium blooming near her house, and invited me to come photograph them. I took my camera over and had just the best time playing flower photographer: wide shots of 10 or 12 blossoms, tight images of individual plants.
And though the Pacific Northwest has the market cornered on the color green, come evening there’s often a gold to be seen that I guarantee will make any
photographer--any observant individual, really--shed tears of I’m-Not-Worthy joy. I looked out the window recently to see that the end-of-day light was a living, glowing thing, illuminating a Tibetan prayer flag, kissing the new growth of leaves on the young trees in front of our house.
During the dark and rainy winter months, I guess my neighbors and I get a little stir crazy. Come spring it’s time to appreciate things that grow, and to celebrate light.
Fecundity. We’re down with that.
