Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.
She is standing on the edge of something, but what precisely? Is it the leading edge of nightfall or the trailing edge of a winter day? Is it the selvage of this bitterly cold and windy field in the Lanark highlands or the deftly stitched hem of 2016, a shiny new calendar year? Perhaps she is standing on the threshold of a fey insight of some kind, a wild and canny knowing, an unknowing?
There is something out here longing to be known, or at least recognized, but the hour is too cold to linger and entertain puckish or arty thoughts. Her frozen fingers could not grasp pen, pencil or sketchbook if her life depended on it. The camera, on the other hand, is clear of eye and lens and unwavering in its commitment. It lights on and then dwells lovingly on every tump of snow, each strand of rusty wire and burnished blade of winter grass, every mist wrapped spruce and floating cloud of golden sundown light.
What I would like this squeaky clean new year to be all about is just showing up and being fully present when I get here, loving what I see just as it is and not imposing my imperfect self, my fumbling mediocrity and my feeble preconceptions on what is already perfect. May it be so.
Happy New Year everyone!