Some years back, hubby hung up some gourds under the carport as potential nesting places. Usually only sparrows took us up on the offer. This year, however, we have a new resident: a Bewick’s Wren.
Bewick’s Wren
Nesting in the gourd
As I waited for my fellow hikers to arrive, I heard a bird chirping in a nearby tree and actually managed to photograph it.
Tufted Titmouse
One photography assignment was to photograph something during the Golden Hour. The Golden Hour is (roughly) right around sunrise and sunset, when the sun’s light isn’t so harsh. You don’t have to guess when the Golden Hour is for any location, you can look it up on a website.
At first the assignment seemed problematic as the weather forecast was for cloud covers and rain for the next week here in central Texas. But, things change, and so did the weather. I had several opportunities to take advantage of the Golden Hour. I dragged several objects outside, staging them in front of rose bushes and Italian Stone Pine trees, or on the front porch. I lugged around small tables. I turned around, noticed the blooming weeds, photographed the thistles, and got a few bug bites in the process. Not chigger bites, thank goodness, but the ones I got itch anyway.
I tipped over the tripod with my camera attached and it crashed into the concrete floor of the porch. Uh oh. I’ve used it since and it seems okay. I got lucky on that one.
Then I played with the edits some. Here’s my first edit effort.
Next I softened it up a bit.
I like this one for its ghost effect.
I went a little darker for the next one.
And I tried it in black and white, just to see.
Near Mueller Lake, Austin, Texas.
The Friday Fictioneer Challenge: Write a 100-word story based on the photo.
Photo copyright Sandra Crook
Black Lightning
Shrugging on her black leather jacket, Molly saw her reflection in the mirror: wrinkles and laugh lines on her face, framed by roils of grey hair. The red mane of her youth that had given rise to her nickname, Red Molly, was long gone.
Twenty years as governor was enough. She smiled as she put on her helmet, straddling her motorcycle, a 1952 Vincent Black Lightning. Riding it kept her sane though it all, reminding her of the strength of simplicity.
Molly left an envelope for her successor with only one piece of advice inside: Buy a motorcycle and ride.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I saw the motorcycle in the photo, I thought of Richard Thompson’s song, 1952 Vincent Black Lightning.
The photographer, Sandra Crook, is a Friday Fictioneer writer. Check out her story.
To read other Friday Fictioneer stories, select the smiley blue frog.
