I have mentioned before I believe sunsets in my part of the world show different personalities based on the time of year they happen. This shot was taken at the beach on the Winter Solstice, and while it would seem normal to think those shapes on the horizon are distant trees, they are actually low clouds hugging the line because the sun drops exclusively over the water from now until March-ish.

This is not my shot - it was my daughter's from when she visited the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta. The combination of the tranquil shade of blue of the water with jellyfish seemingly frozen in time is mesmerizing. We also get jellies at our beaches here in Florida, and while they can be pretty and almost hypnotic, their colors trend flat and don't sport the long tendrils like these do.

​Well done, Mother Nature.

Time and patience are two critical variables to nature getting its act together and displaying something worth capturing. You may sit for hours, waiting for the right light to hit the perfect angle in a landscape shooting expedition. Or, like these examples, nature may slowly assemble something you are lucky enough to stumble over while drifting about.

The first one is a great example of the sedimentary layers of a dune at a nearby beach we frequent. I imagine, with the right calculus, you could figure out how long it took for the different sand slivers to pile up and reveal themselves. The second is a from drainage channel fed by a coastal lake near the other shot that looks like some kind of exotic form of marble or metamorphic rock. This one probably took less time to form, but shares a similar dramatic effect with the sand dune.   

It is pretty certain you have seen a dead tree if you have hiked through a grove of woods or a trail into the mountains. Those deaths normally appear harmless - a fallen soul who is enjoying a slow and relaxing return to the ground it sprung from. And, for the most part, trees keel over and die the same way in the woods here in Florida. But, trees dying in view of a beach decompose differently. They seem to take the opportunity of being famous in the open exposure by being more dramatic and collapsing into odd, gnarled mandibles or stand proudly longer than they should as the sun and air bleach them into eternity.

Nature enjoys drama - any documentary will tell you so with a lot of slow motion footage and tense music. Florida dead trees are no different with their drama - it just unfolds on a different time scale.

I took a trip to Morrison Springs, a local state park, back in May. My hopes were to get some awesome shots that caught a cool blend of sunken cypress trees against the clear blue water of the spring. The main lesson I learned from the trip was I need to plan better before traveling to a shoot. Most times I just wing it - throw my gear and wife into the car and seek out some great shots. That may work for recreational/ fun efforts, but I need to take time on future more serious junkets to scout the location and plan my time.

The foliage that day was, as you see, GREEN. There were many shades and shapes, but everything everywhere was G-R-E-E-N. This posed an interesting challenge that made me feel off the whole shoot and didn't hit me as an epiphany until I was doing my post-processing. All of that green made everything flat through its lack of contrast​. And, that flatness had a definite impact on catching any shots that felt emotionally vibrant...I might as well had been taking pictures in a snowstorm.

I was able to wade into the water in my wetsuit to get up close with the trees and salvaged some contrasts in the darker areas. And there was a really cool VW van parked with an owner happy for me to capture, so the day wasn't a waste. Actually, it's not possible to have a bad day at Morrison Springs.