Unexpected Gifts

I read about photographers who approach their photography as a successful CEO might prepare for a meeting of the company board of directors: plan the work and work the plan. I understand and admire the strategy; photography doesn't seem to work that way for me. It's not that I don't think ahead of time or go to a location with a pre-determined subject or point of view. More often than not, I am surprised by what or who I find. I practice pre-visualizing only to find other gifts await. Mindful photography for me means more than using my mind to learn my gear or learn about the natural rhythms of the places and critters I love to photograph--although I do all that to try to be prepared when I go. Mindful photography means having an open mind and heart to respond to the moment as it is. I often find myself longing for more time to photograph, wishing I had hours to spend in a given spot, or the chance to revisit sites day after day to learn even more about who comes where, when. My life--as I suspect is true of many of you--includes what I've come to call touch-and-go photography. I squeeze in precious minutes around necessary tasks. I let those minutes touch my heart and I go back into the daily refreshed and inspired.

Here are three of my favorite gifts I never saw coming.

After a late fall nor'easter, I went to the beach, intent on the wrack line, a treasure trove of whelk egg cases, skate cases, broken shells, small driftwood fragments. I kept my eyes downward toward my feet when a persistent impulse insisted: look UP! I finally listened, looked, and received this "Sky Smile" -- an upside-down rainbow directly overhead. Seconds later it was gone. 

This is also an "after-the-storm" image. I'd hired a pilot so I could photograph the Currituck Light from the air.  As we flew north I noticed huge clumps of sea foam, one of which looked like a misshapen heart. As I watched and photographed, the heart came into perfect form. Seconds later, the shape changed. By the time we reached the lighthouse, the sun's angle made the photograph I'd originally envisioned impossible. I'm convinced I was in the air that day to receive--and share--this greater gift. 

In January 2013 a group of local nature photographers made our annual trek to Lake Mattamuskeet. This would be my first time at the lake before dawn. I imagined vibrant winter skies, glowing oranges and pinks in sky and water. Instead, the day dawned with dense fog rather than golden morning light. The fog turned out to be the gift. The cypress trees, seemingly suspended in space, mesmerized me. I photographed them from different angles with different lenses at different times of the morning. A year later, this photograph would win the Gold Medal for landscape photography in the inaugural World Photographic Cup: definitely a gift I never saw coming!