Zooming In

Yesterday, in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot, as I started to open the driver's side door, something green caught my eye. A katydid nymph stood on the outside mirror. About the same size as this one I had just photographed in Jill's yard, he sported tiny new wings.What to do? I thought. If I head home on the highway, he'll be flung off and probably get smushed. If I leave him in the parking lot, he'll probably get smushed. I thought Why not take him back home in the car? and immediately realized that I'd never find him again. Finally, I cupped him in my hands (after chasing him halfway across the lot) and placed him in the grass along the edge of the store.

When I told Jill this story, she said walking around with a camera changes the way you see. She's right, of course. A year ago, I would not have noticed the bug, nor would I have known it was a katydid, much less a nymph. Sometimes I don't even see what I have shot until I download my photos. That second sighting -- like this balloon flower, so astonishing, so unexpected, so strange with its reflection of my camera's text -- shows me that what I think I see I do not. Almost always, something lies beyond my sight.
Now, at least, I know this: with the camera and my daily practice of photography, my vision expands beyond the frame.