"This is my Father's world, And to my listening ears All nature sings, and round me rings The music of the spheres." ~ Maltbie D. Babcock, This Is My Father's World Today is National Nature Photography Day! Summer begins next week, and I hope you are enjoying God's creation and capturing His handiwork with your camera. My friends and I are, and we collaborated to bring you this post. May these pictures inspire you to also photograph the beauty of our Father's world. Hummingbird, Kristin Renfer Morning at the Farm, Kim Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, AK, Nicholas Tegethoff For Us the Living, Ben Watt Framed Pond, Clark's Summit University, PA, Heidi Douthat State Park, VA, Nathan Alligator, Janice Pymatuning Lake Sunset, PA, Grandpap Duane Watt Daffodils in the Woods, Lauren Watt Willow Bay, Allegheny National Forest, PA, Hadley Backyard, Jim Easter Sunrise 2020, Penny Durbiano Virgina Spring Beauty, Alex Watt What was your favorite picture? Comment below!
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Remember Humpty Dumpty Rewritten? Today Humpty is having further adventures, as I welcome my brother, Ben Watt, to the blog. Humpty Dumpty sat apart from the bunch; Humpty Dumpty broke to make lunch. And all the digestion and all of the glue,
Today I read The Color Psychology of Yellow on the website Verywell. I learned that yellow is "an extrovert's color." I learned that "not everyone responds to this color in the same way." On another site I learned that "Yellow is the color of the sun, smiley faces and sunflowers. It’s a happy, youthful color, full of hope and positivity."
Why did I research yellow? Well, today I took my first dose of Mepron. Patients often call it the "Yellow Paint Medicine" because, well, it looks like yellow paint. It's also called "Liquid Gold" because it's very expensive. Mepron is a medication that targets Babesia. I started with ¼ tsp at breakfast and will take another ¼ tsp at dinner. The goal is to increase the overall dose by ½ tsp every 10 days until I reach 2 tsp 2x a day. The past 3 weeks have been harder, as I've been taking Lumbrokinase, a new supplement that breaks open Babesia biofilms. I've had a lot of fevers, sweats, chills, nausea, diarrhea, and increased fatigue since then. This is because by breaking open the biofilms I'm exposing more Babesia, and my immune system is now able to reach and kill more of the infection. However, even while I've been feeling much worse physically, I've simultaneously had more mental clarity for reading and writing. This is because by dissolving the Babesia biofilms my blood is able to flow better in the small vessels of my brain. Dr. L sometimes calls the biofilms "plugs," because they literally plug up my blood vessels and keep the blood from flowing as it should. I've seen the big, ugly biofilms in my blood smears before, and it certainly makes sense how they restrict blood flow. Yesterday I emailed Dr. L a summary of how I've been feeling, and he suggested I begin the Mepron at a low dose, as I did today. We expect it will make the herxing from breaking open the biofilms and killing Babesia even worse, but it will also get me through the herxing faster. Prayers are much appreciated! My parents and I recently calculated my monthly out-of-pocket medical expenses for medications and supplements. Currently it’s about $2,300 a month, even with GoodRx coupons, a prescription assistant program, and buying supplements when on sale. (Thankfully, my doctor appointments and testing are covered by Samaritan Ministries.) It’s humbling to share these numbers publicly, but I am thankful for everyone who has supported me. My brother Alex is helping create an online store to sell my artwork and cards to offset some of the expense, and I will share more soon! Now I'm off to take another dose of the Yellow Paint Medicine. Let's hope it has a positive effect! "What was that?" I asked myself. I was sitting in my bedroom, about to pick up a book, when I glanced at something flying above my head. "It must be a bird, or was it a bat?" I wondered. "I didn't get a good look." Whatever it was, it was gone in a flash, but I ran to the living room where I saw a wren flying by a window. "Quick," I told myself, "put the dog in the crate, so he doesn't hurt the poor thing." A moment later the dog was crated, and I was exclaiming, "There's a bird in the house!", as I chased him into the bathroom and closed the door. "He's trapped now," I thought. "He can't be too hard to catch." But I didn't even have a chance to try before Dad told me to leave the bird in the bathroom. The phone had rung for me, and Dad was departing for the dentist. Thirty minutes later, I returned to the bathroom. While I cautiously opened the door, Dad explained to the dental staff that he couldn't brush his teeth because there was a wren in his bathroom. I’m sure they thought it was absurd. Inside the bathroom, I used a butterfly net. Whoosh! A few times I came close to the wren with the net, but he always flew away. Besides, the net was on a five foot pole, which made it difficult to use. "Alright,” I reasoned, “I'll catch him with my hands." But wild birds are not tame, and my hands only ever brushed the wren's feathers. Of course, a bird in a bathroom is an unusual subject, so I laughed and began texting photos of the wren as he flew around the room. Mom was visiting my ninety-one year old grandma, so I video called to let them watch. Then I hung up and wondered what strategy I should attempt next. Only now where was the bird? It took ten minutes before I found him perched on the shadowed piping behind the toilet. Again I reached out my hand to grab him. Again no success. He flew under the steamer, then to a shelf, then to the skylight, then to the showerhead, then to a hook on the door, then behind the shower curtain. I looked in the garage. No, we didn't have a net on a shorter pole. Someone suggested I throw a sheet over the bird. That didn't work either. By now, I'd spent an hour trying to catch the wren, and I was a feverish, sweaty mess. I retreated. My parents could help when they returned home. I went to bed, but I couldn't stop thinking about the poor fellow, later named Silas by my sister-in-law. I didn't want him to go hungry, so I returned with a dish of birdseed. There I found a growing amount of poop on the floor and now on Mom's clothes. Oh, dear. Finally, my parents came home. Into the bathroom they went and out went tripping-hazards and hiding places for the bird. At first, for a horrible moment, Mom thought the bird had died as there was insulation scattered across the floor that she mistook for feathers. Apparently, Silas had been trying to escape through the skylight. Dad cut the pole on the net to a shorter length, and together my parents got to work. Again Silas hid behind the toilet. Again he flew around the room. But forty-five minutes later Silas landed on a hook on the door, and whoosh, over him went the net. Mom had caught the wren! Hooray! Minutes later, Mom, Dad, and I opened the net outside, and Silas flew into the woods. Three-cheers for a prisoner set free! And that was FIVE hours of May 25th at the Watt birdhouse. We're guessing our lovebirds called him in when I went outside to check on my plants that morning.
Dramatic. One word sums up my May 18th election day, the first time my health permitted me to vote in person. 4 AM. I awake panicking, "This is election day! Did I sleep through voting?!" Frantically, I look at my clock and realize I can go back asleep. The polls aren't even open yet. Besides, we aren't voting until 2 PM. When I do get up, my day is fairly typical until the afternoon. 12:30 PM. The front door slams as my mom races outside, then she comes inside again, runs into my room, and exclaims, "Lauren! There's a helicopter!" "What's the significance of that?" I ask somewhat annoyed, as I was trying to sleep. But when I see the look on her face, I bolt out of bed and race outside barefoot. I scan the sky. I hear it. It's loud, but I don't see it. "Where?" I gasp. My mom points directly above a neighbor's house, but trees obstruct my view. We talk to a delivery man in front of our home. "It's a State Police helicopter," he informs us. Further down the street I see 2 parked State Police cars. A neighbor walks towards my mom and me and passes along a message from the police, "Go inside and lock your doors." My heart races as I take off running for our house. There are now 6 police cars and a SWAT team in our neighborhood. From the windows inside, I finally see a black helicopter making low circles above our surrounding woods. I learn from the news that there were 2 homicides and a car bombing. The police are using their thermal camera from the helicopter to look for the man who did it. 12:50 PM. A neighbor messages that the man was found and is in custody. I relax but am sobered. The next day I learn the man spent the previous night sleeping in the woods surrounding our home. 2:10 PM. I depart home with my parents to vote. We feel safe, as the man has now been caught, but the State Police helicopter is still hovering and now a news helicopter is following it. The main road to our poll is blocked with police and news, so we go another way. 2:15 PM. My parents and I arrive at the polls to see police surrounding it. I walk inside where a volunteer informs me that the man who committed the homicides lived directly across the street and is registered to vote here. "He didn't vote today," he adds. "We checked the records." 2:20 PM. I show my ID, sign my name, and walk to a polling booth. I am voter 209. Voting in person feels more real, more official, and more exciting than voting absentee in bed ever did. 2:25 PM. I walk out of the polls with a "I voted" sticker stuck proudly to my shirt. My dad snaps my picture. And that was my election day, my first time voting in person. A day I'd anticipated since I was in my single digits but a day that was unlike anything I ever imagined. A day I won't easily forget.
"You've come a long way, but you still have a long way to go," Dr. L told me over the phone on Friday. And he was right. Both statements are true. For the first time in 6 years, I went to Walmart a few weeks ago. You'd better believe I was beaming under my mask! I walk 1 mile almost every day and recently completed a 2 mile hike. I was able to attend my brother's wedding on May 8th, although it was a push that left me crashed in bed for 3 days afterwards. I'm living in a season of firsts and am filled with awe and wonder. I'm thankful God has brought me this far. Currently, a good day is when I can be up for about 4-5 hours in the morning mostly doing sedentary activities, rest in bed all afternoon, and walk 1 mile outside after dinner. This is the most I've been able to do in years, but I'm still quite limited. I still have a lot of fatigue, brain fog, and get headaches easily. I have at least low-grade fevers daily and often experience sweats and chills. I have occasional GI upset and sometimes feel like I have the flu. We need to keep fighting the infections. Yesterday Dr. L started me on step 1 of my new treatment for Babesia. It's a supplement to help break apart the Babesia biofilms. Then in a few weeks I'll likely be adding a new medication that attacks Babesia. Eventually, I'll probably be on 5 different antibiotics and herbs. Dr. L has been honest with me. These treatments are going to be very difficult, and I'll worsen before improving. Today I'm already feeling the effects of the new supplement with increased fatigue, fever, and feeling run-down. Every day for the past several years I've kept a daily symptom diary and a log of when I start or stop medications or supplements. Now I'll have to email Dr. L a summary of this every 1-2 weeks so he can judge my response to treatments. I receive routine blood work monthly and test my urine 2x a day. I also have to monitor things like my blood oxygen saturation levels. My grandpap says it's like I run a lab. Maybe someday I will. ;) We don't know how long I'll need Babesia treatments, but I've been told to expect about a year. I'm not exactly looking forward to it, but I also know that while they'll initially make me worse, in the long run, they'll make me better. While this is intense, I am thankful God has placed me in good hands. Dr. L has studied Babesia extensively and emailed me a 6 page document he wrote about the treatments and a PowerPoint presentation. He is knowledgeable and sympathetic as his daughter has Babesia. He responds promptly to my emails, and he is willing to treat me, although I'm a complicated case. He has encouraged me by sharing his daughter's own story and how she has improved greatly on Babesia treatment. Healing is possible, and I am hopeful. Often I listen to This Is Your Fight Song from the Piano Guys. The music invigorates me when I'm weary. It begins with this beautiful verse from Amazing Grace, "Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come. 'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home." Note: There will be no post next week since I am posting today. I will resume my usual posting schedule of every Tuesday on May 25th. I didn't need to be told what it meant when I heard the awful screech last Wednesday. I raced out of bed to your cage in the living room. Mom and Dad soon joined me. There you were laying limp and lifeless on your back. When I put my finger to your chest and there was no pulse, it was clear to me that my sweet little lovebird was gone. I don't know what caused your death. You were sleeping more as you grew older, but you weren't showing obvious signs of illness. Oh, Esther! My heart broke to see you laying there at the bottom of your cage. I cried. I cried because I loved you so much for the thirteen years we were together. Loving you made losing you harder, but I don't regret it. C.S. Lewis wisely wrote, "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." And so I quickly made the decision to love again. Not three hours had passed before Mom, Dad, and I were bringing three new lovebirds home. The widower of the friend who originally gave you to my family wanted me to have all his remaining lovebirds. I was touched by his kindness. I'm told these three are old, but I've chosen to love and enjoy them for however long they are with me. I've named them Valerie, Emily, and Francis (CeCe for short). At first, they weren't as tame as you, but they're warming up to me already. They're learning that they can trust me and have stopped biting my hand. I'm inspired by the human mama you and they both shared before she died two years ago. She worked as a NICU nurse and loved and cared for all her birds, even if it meant carrying them in a baby sling or taping splayed legs. She valued every life and together with her husband fought actively for the unborn and adopted children. Here are some pictures of the many baby lovebirds she raised. Esther, you were a good pet, and I have many happy memories of you. I remember when we brought you home and I was so small that your cage towered above me. I was young enough to play with dolls then, so a few times I let you walk around and explore my large doll house. More recently I remember when my massage therapist came to our house twice a week, and we watched and talked about you as I received lymphatic drainage. I always enjoyed introducing you to company and letting them pet you. Sometimes I'd bring you into my bedroom, close the door, and let you fly. You loved to land on my head and climb up and down my long hair, occasionally leaving a gift while you were at it. Now I'm making similar memories with Valerie, Emily, and CeCe. One memory of you especially sticks out to me. A month before you died, you sat on my shoulder while I read The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Last Wednesday, I cried as I covered your warm body with cold dirt, but I buried you knowing one day this winter will melt. One day Jesus will return, the curse will be over, and death and sorrow will be no more.
I miss you, my sweet little feathered friend, but I'm thankful for the thirteen years we had together. You were an embodiment of hope and joy to me. I am sad, but my heart rejoices as I hear three new friends singing that same tune you sang to me on even the darkest days. It's just three times louder now. Last week, I sat in the grass with friends and their horses. Their newborn foals ran to me, curious, sweet, and playful. The sun shone bright and warm, so I wore my medical cooling vest with ice packs in each pocket. I wore it for my own benefit, but I think the foals enjoyed it almost as much on that hot day. They kept licking my vest for it must have felt refreshing. Then they began to amuse themselves by playing with my shoes and laces. One tugged playfully at my sleeve. As I watched the foals, I was struck by just how happy they were to be alive. They ran in circles, tumbled down the hillside, then rested and bathed in the sunlight. It reminded me that life is a gift that is meant to be celebrated. The little foals seemed to marvel at everything, as one does when experiencing a first. Like them, I want to live with that awe and wonder. In some ways, I am, for as I regain health simple pleasures such as the ability to eat foods I used to carry an EpiPen for, walking, and even this visit now seem like miracles. I feel a thrill in my heart when I breath in fresh air, stare at the vast blue sky and distant hills, and smell the sweet grass.
I enjoy these things so much because for most of the past six years I have primarily lived in bed, and I still spend much of my time there. It's sobering to realize how many pleasures I am oblivious to until they are taken away. How many daily blessings am I still blind too, and how do I reconnect them with wonder? I don't exactly know, but I think the advice of Mary Oliver is a good place to start. "Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." But lest I make it seem as if living with wonder is complete bliss, let me add that wonder also requires an open heart. If I am to poignantly feel the joys of this world, I must deeply feel the hurts too. A numb heart may dull the sorrow, but it will keep me from fully experiencing the joy. And so when it was time to gently pat the horses goodbye, I left inspired to rejoice and find the wonder in this hard yet happy life that the Lord has given me. It was April 1, 2010. I was 8 years old and was holding a dozen fertilized eggs that my family had bought to incubate. As we drove home with the eggs, I was full of excitement. We were going to hatch baby chicks! Eventually, we'd have a flock of Buff Orpington and Black Australorp hens and eat fresh eggs for breakfast! Once home, my brothers and I took pencils and lightly marked each egg with a "O" on one side and "X" on the other. This was because we'd be rotating the eggs 3 times daily and would need to track which side was up. We then placed the eggs in an incubator, with the temperature set to 100.5° F, and for the next 17 days, we rotated the eggs from side to side at 7 AM, 2 PM, and 9 PM. We needed to rotate the eggs this frequently to keep the yolk, which would otherwise float to the top, centered in the egg and to prevent the developing embryo from sticking to the membrane. Normally, the mother hen would rotate the eggs, but my brothers and I were "the mother hen." Good thing we were homeschooled because we needed to be around to turn those eggs! About half-way through incubation, we experienced a 24-hour power outage. The house went dark, but then our power was restored within seconds when our RC WATT installed standby generator kicked on and kept the incubator kept running. Phew! The developing chicks were saved, and our project continued. "Peep, peep!" It was day 21 of incubation. "Did you hear that?" someone asked, as we ate breakfast. There were noises coming from the incubator! As the hours ticked by, the peeps continued, and little cracks began to show in the eggs. The chicks were hitting against the inside of their shells with their "egg teeth," temporary horny caps on each chick's beak, to break free. As the chicks hatched, we carefully picked up their wet bodies and placed them in a brooder on our dinning room table. A few hours later they were as cute and fluffy as could be. By the end of the day, all the eggs had hatched, except one. There was a small crack in the remaining egg, but that was all. The chick inside appeared to running out of energy and didn't peep much. What should we do? My brother Ben intervened. He took the egg out of the incubator, carefully peeled the tough shell, then removed the membrane. Finally, there was a blood vessel connected to the membrane and to the bottom of the chick that needed cut. "Alex, please hand me the scissors," he told my oldest brother. Snip. The chick was free at last. Our project was a success. All 12 chicks had hatched and were healthy. We incubated eggs again in 2013 and kept hens from 2010 - 2017. Below is a YouTube video that I made when I was 13 about our second incubation project. "The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God." ~ Anne Frank How thankful I am to be able to go outdoors! Some days it is only for a few minutes, but when I am in nature, somehow my troubles seem a little smaller. I think it is because in creation I find stillness and am reminded of the greatness, glory, power, and love of God. For many years I couldn't go outside, except to climb into the car for a medical appointment. I was bedridden, I reacted to the pollen, and in 2016 - 2017, I couldn't even bear the light and noises of the outdoors. When I finally took a slow 2 minute walk through the backyard on May 9, 2020, the day before my 19th birthday, it was a celebration. I collapsed in bed afterwards, exhausted but elated. Today, I still spend most of my time in bed, but when I'm not in a major herx, I can walk up to 2 miles daily. I'm praising God that it's been almost 1 year since I rediscovered the wonder of the outdoors. Enjoy these pictures from recent walks through the backyard, neighborhood, and parks, along with the lyrics to Look at the World by John Rutter. "Look at the world: Everything all around us Look at the world: and marvel everyday Look at the world: So many joys and wonders So many miracles along our way Look at the earth: Bringing forth fruit and flower Look at the sky: The sunshine and the rain Look at the hills, look at the trees and mountains, Valley and flowing river, field and plain. Think of the spring, Think of the warmth of summer Bringing the harvest before the winters cold Everything grows, everything has a season Til' it is gathered to the Father's fold Every good gift, all that we need and cherish Comes from the Lord in token of His love We are his hands, stewards of all His bounty His is the earth and His the heavens above Praise to thee, O Lord for all creation. Give us thankful hearts that we may see All the gifts we share, and every blessing, All things come of thee All things come of thee" "If you had to rewrite Humpty Dumpty, how would you do it?" I asked my family on Easter. We sat in the living room thinking. "Humpty Dumpty sat on a brick, Humpty Dumpty posed for a pic, But all of his looks, and all of our wits, Couldn't recover the camera's lost bits."
Special thanks to my family, especially Ben, for their assistance in writing this poem. Special thanks to my dad for corrupting the final image and using his selfie stick to photograph my mom, dad, and me. And, if I may say so, special thanks to myself for decorating the egg and taking the Humpty Dumpty pictures. ;) To all my readers, happy National Poetry Month from my family, a half-dozen eggheads. "Your mind knows you are going to Songdo. But you must not tell your body. It must think one hill, one valley, one day at a time. In that way, your spirit will not grow weary before you have even begun to walk. One day, one village. That is how you will go, my friend." ~ A Single Shard, Linda Sue Park Today I had a phone consult with Dr. M, my Bartonella specialist. My latest blood smear from March was still positive for Bartonella--overall the smear is much cleaner than previous ones, but I haven’t completely eradicated the Bartonella. However my main infection to target now is Babesia. Dr. M will continue to treat my Bartonella, but Dr. L will be taking charge of treating my Babesia. Dr. L is my hormone specialist, but he is very knowledgeable about Babesia and has been tirelessly developing a much better treatment protocol because his daughter (around my age) also has it. How God works brings me to tears. I became Dr. L’s patient in 2019 because he took his daughter to Dr. M, and Dr. M subsequently referred me to Dr. L for my hormones. I’d never known about Dr. L if it weren’t for his daughter’s illness, and he took me when he wasn’t accepting new patients. Under his hormonal care, I have greatly improved. More recently Dr. L figured out that his daughter also has Babesia. I am again seeing God’s providence because Dr. L was the first to suspect that I have Babesia, and I am now improving on Babesia treatment. My doctors would like me to start on a new Babesia med, but we are waiting until after May 8th. My oldest brother Alex is getting married that day, and I don’t want to miss the wedding! This treatment is going to be very intense, will make me worse before better, and will require a lot of monitoring. So until after the wedding, the plan is to just continue my current antimicrobials. I’m in a bad herx right now (as those of you who read my last update know), but I am slowly improving after lowering the antibiotic dose on Friday. I’m still in bed most of the day, but I was able to spend a few hours outside visiting with my family on Easter. Hopefully, I’ll continue to improve, and then we can bump up the dose again. We’ll probably rotate between two weeks on the higher dose and two weeks on the lower dose for a while. One day at a time. This is how I will journey. Once upon a time, I lay in bed with a mischievous smile on my face. I was devising a prank to play on my doctor. Yes, I'm gutsy. LOL. A few days later I was at LabCorp. "May I please have a biohazardous waste bag?" I asked my phlebotomist. We'd become friends, and she was all too happy to help, especially when she learned that it was for a prank. As soon as I had possession of that precious bag, I placed a stool sample in a clear container into the bag. But this was a pun. You see, my stool sample was a replica of the kind that you sit on. To make things look even more official, I stuck a requisition for a stool test into the bag. A few weeks later I shook hands with my doctor, when he entered the room. "The lab wouldn't accept my stool sample," I explained. "I thought maybe you could help me with it." With his face red with annoyance, my doctor took the bag from me. I could only imagine what he was thinking. Why was I wasting his time with this? He'd told me before that lab issues were to be handled not by him but by his phlebotomist. Finally, my dad interrupted the awkwardness, "Look inside the bag." "It's a bench?" he asked, confused. "It's a stool sample," I replied. The room erupted with laughter. For years, my doctor kept that stool sample on his desk and used it as an icebreaker with his patients. After all, "A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones." (Proverbs 27:22) What is a favorite prank you've played? Share in the comments below. Health Tip: Want a bigger, healthier brain? Toss your GPS and revert to road maps! "A multinational team of investigators has found that using GPS might be harmful to your mind because it bypasses and thus atrophies your brain's hippocampus, which is the key to many everyday tasks as well as remembering the past and envisioning the future." (The Farmer's Almanac) But if you don't care about your hippocampus and your maps are simply collecting dust, use them to create cards. Be creative! Cut your map to the desired size and glue to your card. Stamp sentiments with ink, tear paper for a rustic look, use old postage stamps and scraps of cardstock for embellishments. Upcycle!
Have fun and send some happy mail! Final Warning: Failure to navigate using road maps may result in hippocampus that shrinks so dramatically that you end up needing TWO GPSes. The evidence is below... Shadow photography. It all started one night in 2020 when I was going to bed and realized I hadn't snapped my daily photo. What could I photograph in my dark room? I could use my camera and a flashlight to make and photograph shadows! My imagination ran wild. I began by photographing a shadow of myself, a monster. My brother Ben provided his analysis, "I love the sharpness of the shadow, with your individual hairs showing, and I love how disproportionately big your head looks to your hand. Also this is quite an original subject, surprisingly enough. Most people don't get pictures of either shadows or monsters. This is a new and more introspective class of the ubiquitous genera of the 'selfie.' You've brought the earth into a new era of self-awareness." If the monster frightened you, perhaps you ought to drink some tea to calm your nerves... This is the most challenging shadow photo I've taken. Keeping the actual teapot and teacup out of the picture, while positioning them close to the wall to receive a sharp shadow, was difficult. Additionally, I needed to angle my camera to prevent casting its shadow into the picture. Finally, I waved my magic wand and transformed my dog and me into shadows lurking on the pavement. Did you know I had such superpowers?
Shadows. Once I viewed them as "ruining" my pictures. Now I photograph them. |
AuthorHi! I'm Lauren Watt. I'm a 20 year old Christian, chronic illness warrior, and amateur artist and writer. Archives
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