untitled - not editioned Photograph

I wake up and look at the clock, drowsy and bleary-eyed, trying to make out the numbers. The alarm didn't go off, it's 6 AM and I've overslept. I get out of bed cautiously but swiftly, dash to the window and cast a glance over the town. It's dawn but the Sun hasn't come up yet and I'm trying to convince myself that I'm not late and that If I hurry I'll get to the spot in time to catch the first rays of light. Everything's going so fast. I get out of the bathroom in no time and start thinking about how Gabi (my wife) always takes a “tad“ longer in there. I skip breakfast and silently descend the stairs, trying not to wake anyone. I walk past Toto (the dog), who is still asleep since he just isn't the morning type. Then I'm driving through the city, heading west and constantly looking in the rearview mirror with dread to see if the Sun had grown weary of waiting for me to show up. But everything is fine, the Sun is still hanging low and casting its morning shadow over the hilltops. I finally arrive at the desired spot and carefully park so I do not block the field road, since someone was picking corn at the time. I scurry down towards the fields carrying my equipment, which is beginning to chafe and grip me tightly. I walk back and start heading east with the dirt clinging to my boots, trying my best to walk along the edge as I really didn't want to bother the people by trampling across the field. I stop every once in a while and just watch. It's beautiful, the silence, the fields, the meadows, the dew, the sky – but I'm still tense as I have yet to take my first picture. It turns out that I have actually arrived too early, the Sun hadn't come up yet and the landscape has taken on a grey hue. I'm getting anxious and feel as if I'm in the wrong place – that I should've walked for another mile or so. But it's too late now because the Sun is just about to show its face, so I proceed to valiantly march on. All of a sudden I find myself in an abandoned plum orchard. The tree barks are swathed in greyish green lichen and the branches are entwined and bent. I find the perfect spot and start taking pictures. I bend down, draw near, back away, lean over, drop my filter in the dewy grass, then pick it up and wipe it delicately. But there is one tree in the orchard that is not like the others. I approach the tree from different angles and my heart starts pounding because the viewfinder has finally detected something worthy of shooting.