“I’ll Take Yellow For 500, Alex.”
I always loved taking photographs.
Not that I am particularly good. Not that I am dreadful.
I just enjoy capturing a subject and composing a decent shot.
Sometimes a photograph will make a million hearts sing.
Or make a million hearts cry.
But if the subject moves a deep part of you, even though techniques are not all that techie — let’s say a photo taken with a Polaroid Instamatic. For most observers, all it represents is a random collection of chemicals reacting to light aligning up in the form akin to homo sapiens.
Unless that shape is an image of your five-month-old daughter. Or of your 78-year-old neighbor crossing the marathon finish line.
If the subject is precious, so is the picture no matter the quality.
Walking over to deposit a borrowed set of moving blankets on my in-laws porch, I spied these beauties.
Their yellow heads such a thrilling, unexpected sight.
I was just opining on seeing the first daffodil at the end of yesterday’s post.
Never dreaming I’d stumble across one the next day.
Not the best photograph, but the subject matter . . . priceless.
Well, especially after the winters we’ve endured.
A little yellow glimmer of . . .
Hope.
And all God’s people sighed, “Amen.”
When do expect your first daffodil sighting?
Linking up with Greta and Allison for Through the Lens Thursday. Our prompt this week: Flower.
