Words alike flames, they burn. Leaving nothing… but ashes, which are never identified, never retraceable, and ridiculously impossible to be put back together again. - Charles Adrian
A quick walk in the country or a stroll in town always takes 3 times as long because as I am forever scanning up high and down low, on things, in things, through things to find the next image to capture. And last Sunday was no exception. Walking through the long grass (& cow pats) of Bishop’s Meadow towards Wells Cathedral was just what the doctor ordered. Fresh Somerset air, warm sunshine and time with the old folks! I was busy snapping away when we stumbled across a sorry looking bench that had fallen victim to an arson attempt. My parents voiced there disgust at the ‘youth of today’ and marched on. In contrast, I spied a leaf of a book, that had been caught up in the flames, as it floated along on the breeze. The page paused - just for a minute, enough time to press down for a photo. It’s fascinating how I found a glimpse of enchanting beauty in that pile of ash and flame-licked pages. Meanwhile, my parents saw nothing but vandalism, a mess, a blot on the landscape. Can beauty be found in the undesired? What are your thoughts?