But two storms ago, I was inspired to go on a photography spree around town to shoot the beautiful fresh snow. Which I now hate.
We started in our own backyard. I love the pop of color from the girls' playhouse against the snowy woods.
We drove down to an old mill by the river. The sky was a rare thing for February in Maine: blue. It was so wonderful to be looking at something other than the typical monochromatic palette of leafless trees /gray sky /white snow, that we hung out and took quite a few shots despite the cold that left my fingers numb. I told Bug to hop in the van, so we could warm up while we drove to the next vista.
Confession: I've maybe been a tad obsessed with photography this past year. She's probably heard those exact words from my mouth around 85,000 times. Karma sucks.
Bug lined up her shot very carefully, pressed the shutter and then checked the LCD screen to be sure it came out. She took one more shot before she was satisfied, then joined me in the van.
We headed down to the river to get some wintry shots of the Kennebec. By then the sun had gone behind the clouds, leaving behind a leaden gray sky. As I set up to shoot, I recalled that the thing about rivers in winter is that they're...gray...and about as interesting as a puddle of spit. We took a few shots, grimaced at the boring images on our LCD screens, and went shopping instead. 'Cause that's how we hard-core photographers roll.
See? Boring. Gray. (Also: dirty snow in bottom right-hand corner). Pfffft.The obligatory self-portrait. You will please to ignore my grown-out roots and faded hair color and focus instead on the sweet face of my daughter. I've had to postpone my hair appointment twice, but it's set for Friday. Pinky swear. And it's going to take Satan himself to make me postpone it again.