One of my favorite pastimes is taking a photo walk. My husband and I will steal away on a Saturday afternoon to see what kind of exciting sites there are waiting to be encapsulated and deposited into our memory banks. Whether revisiting our regular spots or traveling to a new place, there is always something to discover.
A few weeks ago we went to our city’s botanical gardens. I took lots of pictures of what I call the winter hush. The bare forest looked like a minimalist masterpiece. Long lines drew my eye up to a twiggy canopy painted across a blue-gray canvas.
As the sun peeked out from behind the clouds highlighting patterns in the tree bark, I thought of Tudor houses and diamond leaded glass windows. The once overlooked and overgrown was on display, everything made beautiful in its time.
I followed a sound up a stone path to an area dense with fallen leaves. The closer I got the more rustling I heard, like someone or something could see me coming and wanted to keep a close distance. My eyes finally focused in on a group of doves sitting quietly on the ground. I had never seen anything like it.
My husband and I watched motionless as they moved further away from us. They were well camouflaged, but I managed to count about thirteen before they disappeared under a bush.
When I went home I did some research to see why they clustered together like that. I found out they were Mourning Doves and were either foraging or nesting. Once again the photo walk revealed something new and added another page to my story.