Being a Westie
A work day in Hamilton today, so I was leaving in the morning and arriving home (after dinner and a drink with friends) at either end of the day. It was a glorious day of bright sunshine and clear blue sky. High tide was obligingly timed to coincide with my departure and return home, so both trips down the driveway had me stopping to pull out the camera.
Growing up on the west coast (of the Southern Hemisphere) I have spent my life looking into the sun. When you go out in the morning it's in your face, and as you come home at night, there it is again either glaringly obscuring your vision or bathing everything in it's golden glow.
It occurred to me tonight that perhaps growing up on the Western side is why I can't help shooting into the sun: what some would call sun-spotted and hideously overexposed, I see as dripping in light like honey. Sun-kissed is my default position.
I stopped in the same place this morning and this evening. And the totally different results are a reminder how the light, the day, the mood can change. Something to ponder.