Light in October is different than in June or February. The trees, the fence, the little trailer; they all plead, beg…like me…to hold on to the warmth even after the sun goes down. There’s no need for begging in June – the warmth will hold on. In February, there’s just no point in begging. But in October, in the deep south, leaves are still mostly green, the light is warm in every sense, but after the sun drops below the horizon…
We were here first. There’s plenty of room; do you have to sit so close? Or maybe the story is: Come! Join us we’ll all have a good time. But more likely it’s, “How’s the water, Mabel? What does George have in his hands?
I’ve often read that “great photos always tell a story.” But I don’t think a single photo can ever tell a complete story. Stories have a beginning, middle and end. A single photo can only capture a small fraction of the story. Without context, this is simply a photo of a group of people at a beach with a vast ocean of water in the background. Are they family? Friends? Recent acquaintances? Are they stranded on a desert island? What is the story?
The quality of light is changing, the air smells a little bit like autumn. Hardwoods are still in full-leaf, but they’re getting ready for the changing season. It’s difficult to put a finger on precise changes, but they are coming. Nature’s aromas are different, the air feels different, the light isn’t quite so crisp.
Took a drive down to Gulf Shores this morning to capture some photos for my Alamy collection. Surprisingly, it wasn’t overcrowded. A beautiful day, just right for being on the beach.