For more than 40 years, I have been visiting a small woodland close to my home, where I have served as assistant warden since it became a reserve in 1990. I visit on a semi-regular basis - sometimes with, sometimes without a camera. It offers solitude and silence, a welcome break from my desk. I rarely take more than a single lens, either a prime 50mm or 105mm Micro, as I enjoy the freedom and simplicity such a basic setup provides.
I walk every morning, regular as clockwork, within 30 minutes of waking at 6 o’clock, and occasionally I have breakfast as well. It’s a wonderful way to start the day. Earlier this week, with the forecast promising clear, still mornings, I headed twice to “my” wood, armed with the Nikon Z8 and 105mm, thinking I was in for a brief stroll and breakfast. I should have known better!
Autumn had arrived: leaves were turning, blackberries had long past their best, and my breath hung in the air. With the sun still yet to crest the hill, the light was soft and forgiving, but it's that brief period when it enters the forest - when delicate leaves, webs, and grasses are backlit by the warm, rising glow that I was really waiting for.
As I slowly walked along the paths, taking in nature’s tapestry, I felt, on both occasions, as though I had entered what is known as an immersive flow state. I was completely absorbed - not just mentally, but physically and emotionally. Each movement was deliberate yet effortless: noticing compositions, fine-tuning focus, adjusting shutter speed, ISO, and aperture. I resisted the urge to review each frame, relying instead on experience and intuition.
Subtle changes in light were sensed, the quiver of a leaf, the faint rustle of unseen wildlife.
I genuinely felt as though the wood was not just my subject, but a participant - guiding my composition and rewarding my patience and curiosity. I was calm and fully present. I cannot describe it any other way.
It is during these moments that I feel I create my strongest work: scenes and subjects with which I have a deep, personal connection. It is to be expected, perhaps, where the very place I am immersed in has been my confidant and “canvas” for most of my life.
