Taking pictures

I like taking photos when I’m out of the country.

Photographing things in Mexico is effortless. I’ll never understand the nuances of every festival or ritual, but I can enjoy the pageantry and the color, and the incredible effort and artistry that goes into creating so much beauty.

Then I come back up north and look at the mud. It’s a big change.

The skies were overcast for the first five days after my return from Mexico. The temperatures were unseasonably low. There was some rain. There might even have been some snow, if you count the white, pelletlike things that dotted the sidewalk. Maybe it was sleet. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

“What is this?” I asked an innocent passerby. He shook his head disapprovingly.

“I have no idea.”

And I realized that I was terribly spoiled. Taking pictures in Mexico took no skill at all. I decided I needed to start taking pictures right here at home.

The first day was not a great success. The sun stayed stubbornly behind a cloud. The few blooms that were out had been nipped by the frost. I took a photo of some branches against the gray sky and a carved stone pillar covered in green lichen. The lichen was vivid green after sleeping all winter. The lichen seemed about as happy as lichen can be, and so I figured I could make more of an effort.

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