figuring things out

Although there were a surprising number of people out in the park around sunrise this morning, I managed to avoid them appearing in all the photos I took except one.

And although I usually prefer pictures without any people in, now I’ve looked closer at this one, I reckon that the figure actually adds something to the composition.
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not so bright

In the previous blog post, I talked about colour and about the nice bright colours of the photographs I take on my phone. Today, the photos aren’t quite so bright, which is hardly surprising as they were taken after dark with no flash.

I’ve tweaked them a little to make them clearer, though they still retain some of the rather strange brown tinge of the originals.
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nice bright colors

Do you remember when films shown at the cinema were proudly brought to us in Glorious Technicolor?

What about when Simon and Garfunkel sang to us about Kodachrome:

They give us those nice bright colors
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day.

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family Christmas

I know I am not alone when I look back to my childhood and remember the seasons clearly defined, not just by weather, but by the produce and products available in the shops. But now hot cross buns are on sale at Christmas, and mincemeat and Christmas puddings reach the supermarket shelves at August Bank Holiday.

As I remember it, in our house, although we didn’t really celebrate them all, there was a clear progression from Hallowe’en to Guy Fawkes Night to Remembrance Day. Then there was a bit of a lull, as Christmas wasn’t to be mentioned until December.
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cruel deception

They say you can’t judge a book by its cover. But surely, when it’s a book you have read and loved but don’t own a copy of, when you serendipitously find one in a secondhand bookshop you can give silent thanks to Seshat, Sant Jordi, or other bookish divinities and venerable figures, and promise yourself the pleasure of revisiting beloved places and renewing acquaintance with long-lost friends?

Well, maybe. That’s certainly what I thought would happen when I found a copy of Elizabeth Goudge’s A City of Bells last weekend.
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