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© Joy Krauthammer
Sunrise Reflection
begins a new day, and a new year this week.
© Joy Krauthammer
A lot to say about a little photo
Sunrise Reflection is especially meaningful to me. It is a photographic challenge I anticipated. Last week I couldn't have done this shot; the fence was totally covered in vines.
In the dark before 6am, each day I wait for the sun to flash light and color on the horizon, maybe vibrant orange or intense fuchsia. (Maybe enrobed in thick grey clouds.) After painting the sky, the sun rises and shines her radiating face. If there are no magnificent colored clouds, as on this very windy day--the sky is clear, and the photo focus is elsewhere than on fascinating clouds. Today my focus is on the sun's light reflection on the other side of my garden's black wrought iron fence, although I can't see reflection from my camera viewpoint.
Standing or crouching on flat corner ground on my safe side of the fence, holding tightly with one hand onto the sturdy fence, not to be blown over the section of adjacent unfenced property edge in the powerful wind, I carefully thrust my camera through the now stripped and revealed fence to this photo's visible side. With fast disappearing glow, seconds of reflecting sun light, with one hand, I shoot the scene with finger on same hand grasping camera, although I can't see the viewfinder. Whew. Where my camera is, I can't stand on the side of fence because of immediate steep drop down to street!
For the prior couple weeks, I've been removing (with the gardener) all the mature gorgeous Hardenbergia vines spreading out from the center of perimeter of my garden. The Hardenbergia had a dozen years of dead inner vine growth, maybe 100 feet long, 6 feet high and 3 feet deep. Hmm, a metaphor for something... This was an emotional painful process to remove Hardenbergia vine, as the adorable, teensy purple wisteria-looking cluster babies were coming into blossom view. (When would it have been a better time to prune this beloved vine?) Also removed the Honeysuckle vines from fence at the far end of my hillside property. Beyond the Hardenbergia, growing down the slope, is yellow flowered Honeysuckle. The Honeysuckle vine was uncomfortable on my back, as I pushed up against it in my thin pajamas, trying to shoot sunrise, and see color and mountain vistas beyond trees that block my vision. Honeysuckle also had pushed it's unwelcome way into the Hardenbergia, and resisted removal!
At the fence's far opposite end closer to my house, is the awesome Passion Fruit vine I'd also planted, with the most amazing purple flowers and fruit. Recently, again, the Passion vine was attacked by nasty Barnacle Scale. I knew I had to take down the vine in order to save it. We saved the thick core trunks of the three separate vines, each so different and individual in it's personality, shape and color. For years, I'd lovingly woven the beginning vines through the fence bars until I had no more access. Now the vines are thick, and also curled on fence bars. For years I've spent time detaching, and attaching the vine's curly tendrils to better places to adhere (not to my adjacent roses!).
Today I can see through the fence, which for years I'd been trying to avoid, wanting to have my garden privacy.
Today I can see through the fence, which for years I'd been trying to avoid, wanting to have my garden privacy.
The revealed blesSing is that I can photograph the sun's golden glow reflecting on the fence, and see the moment's image in the photo. I share Sunrise Reflection with you.
- Joy Krauthammer
12.2013
12.2013
The above sunrise fence photo may not be as "lovely and peaceful" as another long horizon scape,
but it was my most difficult personal photographic challenge this week!
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BlesSings,
Joy