A Martha Stewart Moment
On the way back from the adventure with the yellow-headed blackbird, while lamenting the soggy state of my boots, my attention becomes focused on a female red-winged blackbird who is frolicking in the reeds. Overcome by all the various tones of brown in the scenery I decide to do a Martha Stewart thing and begin to concentrate on how best to present all of these browns. I call it “getting in touch with your inner woman”. Martha, if I may call her that, is so good at deciding on a theme for the dinner table, Thanksgiving springs to mind, colors, setting and accoutrements flawlessly match and leave the poor dinner guest who was unlucky enough to be invited to the event with feelings of complete inadequacy and wondering how they could possibly ever have nerve enough to invite the goddess of presentational festivities to their own home in appreciative reciprocation.
My mind is overcome with the gravity of the situation – that is matching Martha at what she’s best - and come up with a flawless design of my own that would cause even Martha to raise an eyebrow. Will I ever feel free from these self- imposed competitive urges? So I scurry back and forth – not an easy undertaking, given the sorry state of my boots that are oozing forth wetland slime with every step – trying to obtain the best possible angle and also keeping the position of the sun in mind, lest any unplanned shadow would completely destroy the scene.
Thankfully enough, my model maintains her position long enough for me to get some relatively decent shots before the cramps in my index finger force me to abandon my endeavors and return home to sample a much deserved Krombacher. Who knew that wildlife photography could be so exhausting?
A Martha Stewart Moment
On the way back from the adventure with the yellow-headed blackbird, while lamenting the soggy state of my boots, my attention becomes focused on a female red-winged blackbird who is frolicking in the reeds. Overcome by all the various tones of brown in the scenery I decide to do a Martha Stewart thing and begin to concentrate on how best to present all of these browns. I call it “getting in touch with your inner woman”. Martha, if I may call her that, is so good at deciding on a theme for the dinner table, Thanksgiving springs to mind, colors, setting and accoutrements flawlessly match and leave the poor dinner guest who was unlucky enough to be invited to the event with feelings of complete inadequacy and wondering how they could possibly ever have nerve enough to invite the goddess of presentational festivities to their own home in appreciative reciprocation.
My mind is overcome with the gravity of the situation – that is matching Martha at what she’s best - and come up with a flawless design of my own that would cause even Martha to raise an eyebrow. Will I ever feel free from these self- imposed competitive urges? So I scurry back and forth – not an easy undertaking, given the sorry state of my boots that are oozing forth wetland slime with every step – trying to obtain the best possible angle and also keeping the position of the sun in mind, lest any unplanned shadow would completely destroy the scene.
Thankfully enough, my model maintains her position long enough for me to get some relatively decent shots before the cramps in my index finger force me to abandon my endeavors and return home to sample a much deserved Krombacher. Who knew that wildlife photography could be so exhausting?