Out My Window

For whatever reason, my kitchen window seems to be a black hole of photography for me.  Not in the bad way, in that it's a void were nothing at all, let alone anything good, happens.  It's like a black hole in that every time I go there I wind up either thinking about taking a photo of something that strikes me as interesting or pretty, or I gather my motivation, go back to the living room, collect my camera, and actually take the picture.  I hesitate, I think, because I'm worried that I'll take the shot, leave it on the camera, never upload or edit it, and then six weeks from now I'll go to do it and forget what it was about the shot that compelled me to take it in the first place.

And then, some days, I just quit messing around and do all that.  Like this morning.

Now, if I could just muster that concentration on all of the false starts and halfhearted attempts collected on my writing cloud, we'd be getting somewhere.

Then again, maybe they're false starts for a reason.  At least they're there, I suppose.  If I ever need them.  And I probably will, some day.