Looking out over the garden in late August, I see the flowers entering the final stage of the season. The Black-eyed Susan blooms are fading, producing seeds that the goldfinches love. The verbenas along the sidewalk have given up, no longer able to take the heat reflected off the cement.
There is something special about looking through a viewfinder, framing a scene, pausing to be sure all is as desired, then slowly pressing the shutter button. Anticipation–that itch to see the scene on a negative–starts right then. The unknowns account for some of the allure of using film—failure is always