Camera in hand, he watches...15:45 Apr 13 2012
Times Read: 686
Camera in hand he sits on the wall bridging the edge of the small lake from the road; and he listens to the sound of silence, that is broken by a duck and, a backfiring truck, or the occasional car, that is driven way too fast, in a spot of beauty such as Raby Mere, that can bring cheer, to those that appreciate its quiet and trees of many hues of green, with some overhanging the Mere and, seem to reflect its serene charm; and, as he sits where he does, the fellow soon forgets the harm of the week, as his eyes seek an image to photograph; which is no easy feet, as wherever he stares, there is something to pleases: and yet, to have so much choice is somewhat a tease… like, the courting couple, who meet from the office, each lunchtime at one, both married; an they’re so loving, it’s a pity they’re not married, together. And, there’s the doting father’s, delighted with the smiles of their offspring, the one’s that they’re lucky, to see them one day a week. And, turning his head, to stare to his left and the young Heron that stands there on dead wood that projects from the surface of the small lake, imperious; it’s sentinel-like pose recalling for the fellow, a king who survey’s his land and, the fellow with the camera, hears the sweet song of a thrush and then, the sound of hammering, as a woodpecker pecks away; and, this causes a smile, to sit upon his face, as he continues, to sit there… awhile longer, this peaceful, blue-sky day.
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