I sat down to write a list.
The scenes with a season still missing from them, frames I meant to make before the leaves turn, so a few of my seasonal sets would finally be complete. Four frames of one scene, one for each season, made from the same spot across months or years: a small body of work in itself, and the story of a place changing.
Then I opened the folder of images still to edit, and several of those gaps were already filled. Frames made a season or two back that I had never sat with properly, quietly completing sets I had been carrying as unfinished. I had been planning to go out and make work I had, in a sense, already made.
It does not close a set. There is always a better frame waiting, a season I will replace when the light is kinder. But the set stands now, made without my quite noticing, ready to be improved rather than built.
And the better frames will come the way these did: not by making a plan, but by going back to the same few places often enough to be there when the light turns. That is the most of the luck I can make, and none of it comes off a list.
I have written the whole of it on the site, if it chimes.
Subscribers to Serenity in the Woods now also get a short private note from the woods each week, a small observation that does not appear anywhere else.
See you next week!
Tim