On Trees and Stories

What shapes our lives?

Sights, sounds, smells, feelings, emotions.

Not only rational thoughts, but the endless intangible contacts with the world.

I grew up in a ranch-house in Georgia with a glass door facing west. Each afternoon brillant light streamed through the towering pine trees. The golden light shaped the way I see the world. Eventually I became a wedding photographer, and I always took pictures “the wrong way,” shooting into the sun.

The true art of photography is capturing not only the visible reality of what is, but the emotional reality of how a moment feels.

Even now, when I feel the African sunlight hit my face, my mind plays tricks on me, and I can hear Georgia: mourning doves in the trees, the soft white noise of the air-conditioner near the back-door, the creak of tree-houses as the pines shifted in the wind, planes reaching altitude as they streak north from Hartsfield-Jackson, and the ever-present hum of traffic on I-85. The mind is a strange thing.

This morning as I walk Annabelle to school, the tree with camouflage bark along the path is brilliant.

I see it not only today.