I did something quite out of character today. While tethering my dog behind a convenience store, I noticed a vignette that struck me. A beautiful vine dotted with brilliant red berries and golden fall foliage climbed around a prosaically dull meter in a corner where some graffiti had sprouted. Something about it twanged the same twanger that I sometimes feel looking at thrown and altered work; something about the tension between the contrasts of organic and mechanical.
Normally I would have made a mental note of it, taken a moment to enjoy it, and gone on with my day. But lately I have been playing with my husband's camera, for more than just pottery shots. I wouldn't call myself a photographer, but sometimes I point the camera at things and press the button. I felt a little silly (in a classic Yankee who-do-you-think-you-are kind of way) but I let Doug's example inspire me: he would never feel like he had to explain why an image was important to him, nor let errands get in the way of a creative moment; much less worry that the Big Apple clerks would think he was weird.
So I went back to the house and got the camera and took a few shots. This one is the best. I am pleased not just with the photo, but with myself for honoring creativity wherever it presents itself.