One of the things I’ve noticed over the years – I love photographing cold, naked trees. I admire their dignity, their stalwart stance in the face of all those frigid dark months, catching brief glimpses of a faded sun. They are so very beautiful. And somehow, a bit accusing, a bit threatening. They’re not happy at all.
This tree, towering from its little island in the middle of a little pond, keeps watch over a stretch of lang along the Clutha River. It doesn’t miss a thing.
Titirangi Storyteller 
“If trees could speak,” I tell myself as we travel, “what incredible stories they’d share.” I, too, am in awe of these wondrous living things.
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I am surprised we all are not. How is that even possible?
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I love all of the shadows in this. Have you tried it in black and white?
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No – I will give it a go though (as soon as I get caught up – I have literally thousands of photos waiting for me… and I keep making more.)
And while I do like black and white and it certainly is an excellent means of capturing winter’s bleakness, I also have an odd fondness for winter’s ‘death palette’ washed out, dirty hues of faded greenery, greys and muddy shades of brown…
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The cold, naked trees are my beloved too. They look like the alive symbols, like the revived giants from the fairy tales… the naked branches give us their hand of support- enable the viewers to endure and thus encourage us on our travel. Thank you for the post and the talking photo.
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