![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glenatronThe digital camera is a wonderful thing. One of the major tricks of professional photographers is that you take a thousand pictures and statistically speaking some of them are likely to be alright. It stops you being afraid to take shots that you will probably have to bin because you haven't had to bother with printing and processing. Fun and immediate.
This evening we went for an amble on the hills you can see from our window, just the other side of the county boundary in Hampshire. It is surprising how quickly you are out of town and into the arable chalk downland that stretches from here down towards the south downs way. We are just to the west of the heaths and sandstone hills that I spent most of my teenage years exploring on a mountain bike and it counts as new territory to me. The rolling hills with their hedged fields and little corners of ancient woodland are an archetypal image of rural england, their picture-postcard quality dented only slightly by the huge pylons that march across them and the massive corrugated steel barns that crouch beside any of the farmhouses that managed to stay as working farms.
I took pictures of oak-leaves backlit by the sun and of september evening fields and tall skies with the sun sinking redly into the grey-brown haze that you can see hanging over the land from anywhere high up. I think that haze is mostly our reward for our desperate and hungry addiction to driving everywhere we possibly can. I wonder if it will be gone when the oil runs out and I'll be able to show the pictures of that sky to children and say "that is what it used to be like, when I was younger."
I guess that depends a lot on whether we have any way of powering our computers in a post-fossil fuel world. In the absence of that, digital cameras are pretty much useless.
This evening we went for an amble on the hills you can see from our window, just the other side of the county boundary in Hampshire. It is surprising how quickly you are out of town and into the arable chalk downland that stretches from here down towards the south downs way. We are just to the west of the heaths and sandstone hills that I spent most of my teenage years exploring on a mountain bike and it counts as new territory to me. The rolling hills with their hedged fields and little corners of ancient woodland are an archetypal image of rural england, their picture-postcard quality dented only slightly by the huge pylons that march across them and the massive corrugated steel barns that crouch beside any of the farmhouses that managed to stay as working farms.
I took pictures of oak-leaves backlit by the sun and of september evening fields and tall skies with the sun sinking redly into the grey-brown haze that you can see hanging over the land from anywhere high up. I think that haze is mostly our reward for our desperate and hungry addiction to driving everywhere we possibly can. I wonder if it will be gone when the oil runs out and I'll be able to show the pictures of that sky to children and say "that is what it used to be like, when I was younger."
I guess that depends a lot on whether we have any way of powering our computers in a post-fossil fuel world. In the absence of that, digital cameras are pretty much useless.