It was cold, but not quite cold enough for gloves. The sky was clear blue – not the intense blue of summer, but a soft blue – the sort of blue that you could wrap a baby in. And although it was mid morning, the clear, thin light hit the trees at a low angle, causing them to cast long soft shadows across the undry grass.
And then I saw the shadow of the lamp against a tree – a natural negative – the source of light transformed into a shadow.
So I took a picture and wished I could write a poem.