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PHOTOGRAPHER'S JOURNAL: This is the season when nature imitates Monet. She works quickly, and before I know it, blushes have become fully saturated and mostly green. But this is still the very beginning; Monet is still mostly confined to the valleys.
Down the trail at the swamp I can hear the chatter of the black birds. When I emerge from the forest at the end of the trail they will be all around me, their flights reflecting in the glassy surface of the beaver pond. Out here in the hay field the sun is low and I'm amazed at how painterly nature unmanipulated by Photoshop can sometimes be. Even the ubiquitous unsharp filter seemed too much manipulation.
