the color of sweet


There is a photograph by Cig Harvey that I adore. It’s called Frozen Apples. I love the soft and diffuse light of a snowy day. I love the sense of movement as the snow falls gently. I love the way I can almost feel the cold. I love the pop of color of the apples, not the bright red one might expect, but rather a golden ripe yellow. The photo puts me in mind of the persimmon tree I used to pass on the way to visit my mother on Memory Lane. Ever since I saw Cig’s photograph, I’ve been thinking of how I might make an image of the persimmon tree that conveys that same sense of movement and warmth in a timeless way.

We awoke to much needed rain, continuing slow and steady throughout the day. The skies were overcast and cloudy. I had hoped for fog and soft light, but not today. Still I walked the road alongside the persimmon tree. The fruit is plentiful but not yet ripe. I played with composition in the beautiful way that feels like taking a long deep breath.

These are my first tries. I haven’t given up. I’ll be back again . . . and again.