Grim

I’ve mentioned before that I love the seaside and I love photographing the seaside. It doesn’t matter if it’s in season or out, good weather or bad, there’s something there to photograph, or a mood to be captured.

Of course, that’s true everywhere — I just happen to find more inspiration there than in other places.

We got thoroughly soaked on a recent trip to Southport. The weather was OK as we set off, but by the time we got to the coast, it had turned and settled in to a heavy downpour. What I like about this is the incongruity: here’s a place that is designed to be heaving with people — noise, colour, movement — and yet it’s virtually deserted. There’s a feeling… not of sadness particularly, but of unused potential; a sense that it’s just waiting for the people to return and all will be well again.

Changes

One of the benefits of having a dog (and not having to go to the office every day) is that you are forced to become a pedestrian. I spent too much of my life outside of the house in the confines of a car—because of the need to commute, or get the shopping in quickly and so on.

Walking and being exposed to the elements makes you much more aware of the natural world. Because you’re not insulated from cold and rain, and because your attention is free to wander, rather than watch the road, you see things at more visceral level than before.

I’ve mentioned before that there is a particular spot on my regular walks with the dog that has a special attraction to me. I can’t really explain why  those particular trees from that particular position is something that I look forward to seeing whenever I go that way, but the fact is that I always take time to slow down and just watch those silver birch framing the willow.

And, of course, over the course of the last six months or so, I’ve watched (and photographed) the trees wake from their winter dormancy to full spring exuberance.

Here, then, are some pictures of the seasonal change in one particular stand of trees.