Sitting in the middle of the road, cross legged, skirt hiked up a little too high for comfort, and I am certainly hoping that I will see a car coming before they see me. Camera balanced on my knee, bending myself into a pretzel in order to get the shot.
It’s the golden hour, and up here in the land of big skies it’s really golden. Threatened thunderstorms have pearlized the sky, wheat fields are slowly turning into swatches of amber, birds flitting from branch to rugged weathered fences, are the only thing that breaks the silence.
Long, straight, and bare of traffic this road means no problem seeing them before they see me, all I need to watch out for is what the dog walkers don’t bother to pick up. Rural farmland, banked by fields of grass, with turquoise bee apiaries at the corner, tucked under the rare golden firs trees.
Ringed by grey fence posts, garnished with strands of rusted barbed wire it has so much appeal that I am here often. Fog, snow, sun, early dawns, and late evenings, the scenery changes with each hour.
I am trying to capture the circular fuzz of a weed with the setting sun behind it, the only problem is that it’s on the ground, and I can’t get the right angle without sitting down on the road. So I do, sit that is…the road seems clean, and besides who is going to see me? The orange cat that hunts in the field, the deer that we have seen eating from the farmers compost pile? The eagle overhead, or the tiny chickadee’s that eat the berries in the bushes?
There is no one, save me, my camera, and the sunset…and that’s the way I like it.
Postcards from the land of the big skies.