
Haiku
Across open grass
Bodies shift, eyes learn to move
Seeing becomes dance





150 words
Today I began delivering the Creative Camera Course at AppFrod, and what drew me in was the way the group began to move—almost unconsciously—into a kind of shared rhythm. Andrew, my best man from over forty years ago and a former physics teacher, started by explaining how the eye works. His words grounded the morning, giving shape to something we often take for granted. I then expanded on that, exploring how the camera flattens what we naturally see, and how we might respond through angle, focal length, and choice. But it was outside, on the grass near the trees and the golf course, that everything came alive. People began to spread out, bend, pause, step forward, step back. Each movement carried intention. Each gesture was part of something larger. What I witnessed was not just a group learning photography, but a quiet transformation—where looking deepened, and seeing itself became a kind of dance.

Haiku
First swing through still air
Wood waits for the moment struck
Creation begins
150 words
What drew me to this moment was its simplicity—a single act, repeated countless times, yet always holding that same sense of beginning. The swing of the club, the pause before impact, the quiet focus. It felt like a metaphor for the start of the Creative Camera Course. We had spoken about how the eye sees, how the camera translates, how we might bridge that gap—but here, in this small gesture, was the essence of it all. The first attempt is never perfect. It carries hesitation, hope, and the willingness to try. Just as we stepped out onto the grass with our cameras, unsure of what we might find, this act of striking the wood became something more than play. It became a moment of commitment. A beginning. Creativity often starts like this—not with certainty, but with a simple decision to act, and to see what follows.
Shot on the Fuji X-T50
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