Last week after finishing a portrait shoot with a client I decided to linger afterward and stroll through the courtyard garden rather than go straight home. I shoot at this location, an old historic manor just off the trail by my house, fairly often. It’s a beautiful spot, but I’ve spent so much time there that when it comes to making photographs I sometimes let myself believe that there’s nothing new to see, or no new images to make. But on this one particular evening I couldn’t ignore the voice inside urging me to wander.
I should back up for a moment and add; a couple of years ago I began seeing a beautiful cooper’s hawk in my neighborhood. She visited my yard a time or two early on, and since then I occasionally see her on my morning runs. More than once I’ve been startled by her, and just how close she lets me get. And every time I’ve cursed that I didn’t have anything better than a phone camera on hand. I’d started to consider abandoning my runs and just going out occasionally to look for her. But something told me that if I was looking, I wouldn’t find her.
So as the sun sank a little lower I entered the garden at the manor and began to look around at my usual subjects. It’s rare that I have this space to myself, but the evening was cold and the light was fading. Only a few small birds fluttered around between the bare branches and the trellises. I noticed for the first time that with the leaves off of the trees surrounding the garden the late evening sunlight hit the back wall, with the mounted busts of statues and vines of climbing roses, in a way I’d never noticed, making it even more beautiful and interesting. As I watched the light slowly move across the wall I couldn’t help but notice the stillness in the air. It was silent.
I think photographers tend to develop a keen sense of hearing. When you’re working, your vision limited only to what you see through the lens, your hands occupied with the camera, and all of your attention focused on what’s in front of you, you rely on your ears to tell you what’s going on around you. As I was setting up the shot above I realized that it was no longer silent. And yet there also wasn’t a discernible noise. It was almost as if I heard the air move. I felt a presence.
I turned around, and what I saw in front of me nearly brought me to tears: this beautiful creature, quite possibly the same one I’d so wanted a better view of, perched perfectly on the statue in front of me. I expected she’d fly quickly and so I raised the camera and snapped a quick photo. But then I took a few steps closer, and another photograph. A few more steps, another image. She was so peaceful, and seemed largely unbothered by my presence. I didn’t want to get to impinge upon her space and scare her away so I settled for the image below, her beautiful silhouette against the sunset sky.