...or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
-Shakespeare (from Sonnet 73)
PHOTOGRAPHER'S DIARY: Shakespeare's Sonnet 73 has always seemed to me one of the most haunting and sublime songs in the English language - the futile rage that concludes the first quatrain, the black hush in which the second ends, and the just resignation to ongoing process of the third. The sonnet returns to me each fall about this time, and on days like this its polyphonic strains are a likely accompaniment as I shoot. I believe it is much more important that I find the tempos and harmonics of a place than find the shots. If I'm properly tuned, the shots appear.
4 comments:
Your description makes the picture more beautiful, fantastic shot.
Thanks for the comment. Very glad you enjoyed.
Thank you too for your comments, I am back here because I wanted to see this picture again, it's so pure and simple, I like it a lot.
Your last picture is wonderful but I like this one a little more.
Nothing could be more encouraging than to discover someone has come back for a second look or spent a bit of time enjoying an image. It is what we all wish for. Thanks forstopping by again and letting me know.
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