Snowdrops are just too white.
They look charming as they daintily nod and tease the photographer from
their dappled woodland setting and like sirens of the forest they lure droves
of happy snappers to an afternoon of pain and frustration.
Memory cards fill up, batteries go flat, knees give out, and backs lock
up in the efforts to capture that magic drift of fairy tale white amongst mossy
tree stumps and dried oak leaves.
An afternoon spent chasing that elusive snowdrop picture resulted in
nothing. A sea of white flowers became a sea of white …nothing-muchness and one
lone snowdrop looked like a study for a gardening catalogue.
The play of bright sunshine through deep shade looks delightful to the eye,
but is far out of my league when it comes to controlling the light for the
image. Still, if I hadn’t been trying to
photograph them I wouldn’t have got down on my knees in the mud to have a close
look, or been aware of their sweet perfume.
I feel I know snowdrops a bit
better now, and because they play so hard to get, maybe I appreciate them more.
