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Of the hundreds of articles I have had published, only a handful were not illustrated with my pictures. Whether the words sold the pictures or the pictures sold the words is impossible to determine but it seems obvious that a package offered to an editor must make his or her job easier if they do not have to seek pictures to illustrate the words. There is, of course, the proviso that the subject of the article is what they want and the words and pictures are up to scratch.

If you are wanting to make some sort of cash return on the investment you have made in your photography, perhaps you should consider adding words to your pictures. For just a further investment of a tiny $A2-50 this e-book could help you get more of your photographs published and paid for.

To order, go to https://davidbigwoodpublishing.blog/shop/books/landscape-format-pdf-e-books/put-words-with-your-pictures-in-pdf-format/ The e-book will be sent to you electronically once your payment has been confirmed. You will receive an e-mail with details of how to access the file. You will need the Acrobat Reader (available free from https://get.adobe.com/reader/) to read this e-book.

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Freelancing — Targets and How to Set Them

Whether you make your sales directly or through an agent or photo library, do you have a target to keep your mind focused on your output? And, if you do, is it measurable? It needs to be otherwise you cannot assess just how you are performing against your target. It can be as simple as the number of submissions/pitches sent out each month or the number of sales made, or the monetary amount of sales made, all of which are measurable. My targets began as the number of submissions made each month but I felt that that didn’t stretch me enough. Regular submissions are, of course, essential in this freelancing business but results are more important.
So, I amended my goals by setting myself an income-based goal for each month which encourages me to continue to send submissions out but will not let me feel satisfied just by the making of a submission. Now I won’t feel satisfied unless I can eat! Hopefully this approach will improve my selections and lead to more sales.
Don’t forget, that setting a target is not the end of it. There is no point in having a target that there is no chance of achieving just as there is no point in having a target that is too easily achieved. Setting targets that challenge is a fine balancing act so review your goals regularly. And don’t feel that you are cheating if you downgrade your targets if you find that you are not achieving them even though you have put a 100 per cent effort in. Of course, if the non-achievement is brought about by lack of application on your part, you know what to do.
Equally, if you are achieving your targets fairly easily, do consider upgrading them.

PICTURECORRECT

PHOTOGRAPHING THE MICRO LANDSCAPE
BY DAVID BIGWOOD

When I began making pictures of the landscape, it was always the big picture that mattered. And I suppose it’s the same for most of us. It was a case of taking a few exposures and then moving on to the next grand view.

Then came the day when I needed to make some pictures—photographers will know what I mean—and the weather was against me. Uniformly grey clouds and lousy light are no recipe for great landscape shots.

With the itch in my shutter finger unsatisfied, I had to find a subject, so I began casting around the area. And, what do you know, there were dozens of them. Of course there were, for those who have eyes to see. The big picture is made up of thousands—maybe millions—of smaller pictures, and this is what I had been missing.

And, it’s not only the weather that can be against the making of the big picture. Sometimes it’s hard to avoid the crowds in a popular spot, for example, but if we are attuned to looking within the scene for its components and are able to recognize potential pictures among them, then our frustrations at not being able to make pictures because of situations that are beyond our control can be relieved.

The same applies when the big picture just isn’t right. Maybe it’s the light that is wrong—from the wrong direction, at the wrong time of day—or something in the scene is just not photogenic and it can’t be got around by moving it or moving our viewpoint. This happened to me recently when I went to the Snowy River in the New South Wales high country in Australia. The attractive scenes that I knew from five years ago had disappeared in the disastrous bush fires of January 2003 and the area had not fully recovered. There were dead trees everywhere and the whole area had a scrubby look about it. Its former beauty will come back, but it will take a lot more time. Big picture scenes were out, so I concentrated instead on close ups of some of the spring wildflowers that were brightening the river bank.

And, when I spent a week last year on England’s Cumbrian coast, the weather was less than kind but nevertheless I found subjects to shoot between the bursts of sunshine by looking into the landscape.

It was the weather that first forced me into exploring for smaller pictures but now it’s my natural approach to landscape photography. I do not shun the big picture, but now I am loath to leave a place until I have made some images that show something of its intimate details. I have learned to not only look but also to see.

And, that is the first step to making pictures of the micro-landscape, the bits that make up the whole. You may have heard the comment by camera club judges, “a well seen picture” and that is what we have to be aware of when considering our photography. We have to look and then, more importantly, we have to see the picture opportunities that present themselves. We have to take our time. We have to immerse ourselves in the area. We need to feel for the place. We need to experience wonder at the age of rock formations and how, over millenniums, they have been fashioned by wind and water, at the way in which trees and other plants survive in less than perfect conditions and how they cling to life and overcome obstacles by growing round and over them. We need to be in awe of the power of nature.

I try not to have preconceived ideas of what I am looking for as subjects when I begin to explore. To do so would defeat the object of the exercise, which is to first look and then to see. However, depending on the location, there are some obvious subjects that crop up repeatedly. For instance, in Britain’s ancient woodlands the twisted and contorted trunks of old trees, the bases of the same trees which often incorporate huge boulders, and in the moorlands, the wildflowers that fill the meadows in high summer, the fallen golden leaves of the deciduous trees in autumn and, in the winter, the plants that brave the snow, the streams winding between snowy banks and the footprints of animals, and birds in otherwise undisturbed snow.

On the coast, there are the rock pools gouged out by centuries of water action, and their inhabitants, rippled sand, flotsam and jetsam, the plants that bind the sand, the multi-colored pebbles, and the many wonderful shapes of rock platforms and the strata in cliffs.

Wherever you are, look up. Sometimes a wonderful, and generally fleeting cloud arrangement will make a great image. And there may be a photogenic arrangement of leaves on a tree or at your feet. Check the trunks of trees, especially after or even during rain when the bark of some trees, especially in Australia, is magnificently colored. Watch the swirling water in creeks —apart from anything else, flowing water is very therapeutic and calming—especially where it ripples over boulders.

Then there are the grasses, especially when back lit, or flowers or fungi, or fallen trees or…the list is infinite. Those are just some examples but it doesn’t matter where you go, you will find subjects to fill your viewfinder if you really look.

As far as technique is concerned, the important thing is to ensure that your subject is sharp and possibly isolated from the background by using a large aperture. Unless you’re using a fast film or ISO setting, a tripod will be useful, if not essential, to ensure that your camera stays focused where you want it and that camera shake does not ruin a precious picture.

If you want to make close-up pictures, a macro lens or a set of extension tubes will be necessary. I sometimes find focusing when using extension tubes a bit difficult especially when the lens is practically touching the subject. It is sometimes easier then to move the camera backwards and forwards to establish correct focus rather than using the focus adjustment.

Close-up images of flowers are often better when made under overcast skies as the reduction in contrast suits the subject and enhances the colors. I carry a plastic sheet when expecting to do close-up work at ground level to make the job a little more comfortable.

As the light level on grey days or in woods is sometimes a little low, you may want to use some fill-in flash to enhance your subject. If you can, adjust the output of your flash gun; aim to produce a flash about two stops under the exposure setting of your camera, which will produce a natural looking image. I have been able to produce quite good results at times with a very basic flash gun by shooting through a couple of layers of a white handkerchief. Not very scientific but it has worked. But, do experiment with your equipment before you leave home!

Aluminum foil can also be useful to bounce light into your subject and it’s worth carrying some in your camera bag. I have a Space Blanket which I bought many years ago, which is very useful as a reflector. I can also wrap myself in it if I get lost and have to spend the night outdoors in low temperatures! One question that crops up every now and then about the photographing of the natural world is: do we take the picture exactly as it is found or can we move things around and even import an item from somewhere else? As far as I’m concerned, that is up to you!

For the record, I do clear away distracting items, some grass for instance, and I have been known to introduce a greenish leaf from a few centimeters away on to a pile of autumn colored leaves to provide some contrast. But, if I can, I leave it as I found it. If I do make changes they are only minor. But, it’s your picture and your choice.

I have used film and digital to produce my micro-landscape pictures but what you use is immaterial. It is the result that counts and that result will come from your ability to see the picture in the first place and then from your technical know-how.

About the Author:
David Bigwood is a photographer in the Snowy Mountains of New South Wales, Australia.

6 RESPONSES TO “PHOTOGRAPHING THE MICRO LANDSCAPE”

Andy Keeble
Friday, October 12th, 2012 at 1:54 pm
A very interesting article. There is a whole world to explore but the patience required must be astronomical! However the resulting images are quite breath taking.
Andy

Kathy Clark
Saturday, October 13th, 2012 at 8:54 pm
Very well said. I love seeing what is available just inches away. You never know what you will run across, especially with all the bugs in Alabama.
Thank you for sharing this, very inspiring.
Kathy Clark

Waheed Akhtar
Sunday, October 14th, 2012 at 2:17 am
Some great tips here for micro photography. Thank you.

Rob Gipman
Thursday, November 5th, 2015 at 2:54 pm
I’ts a fascinating world to indeed. took this shot as my first real macro with a 50mm lens reverted. https://www.flickr.com/photos/gipukan/4392466957/

Robert Guildner
Thursday, December 7th, 2017 at 11:47 am
Thank you for this insightful article. Your suggestions apply to everyday life and just not photography.

Neil
Thursday, December 7th, 2017 at 10:13 pm
Really useful article and I must say that you have a wonderful, almost poetic, style of writing.

After a few days of posting beach scenes, I thought that this piece of mine might be of interest:

I look at a beach and see a stage. A stage with never-ending, always changing scenes. Dramas are played out until the tide, like a massive moving curtain, descends and writes, ‘The End’.
But, it never is the end for the curtain rises again just as it has since time immemorial and drama resumes its rightful place. The ever continuing tussle between life and death takes centre stage while on stage right and left more mundane plays are acted out as the many creatures that make the sand their home as the tide sits above them, begin their housekeeping. Some, such as the sand bubbler crabs, inadvertently produce transitory artistic works as they toss their waste sand balls onto the beach.
Just as in a theatre, props play a part on our sandy stage. Stuff tossed or lost overboard from boats finally ends up at the high water mark while scattered across the stage lies seaweed ripped from the ocean floor during a violent storm. Here also are fish or seabirds whose lives have run their course from old age or wounds or, worst of all, from the disregard of man who dumps fuel oil into the sea, apparently unmoved by the plight of the birds who become coated with the stuff.
My obsession for walking beaches had begun as a boy on holiday in North Wales. Whatever the weather, my parents did not believe in sitting in the holiday home; this was holiday time which meant the beach and never mind the rain.
And, what better way of encouraging children to walk a beach in the rain than to suggest that they may find something exciting? “You never know what you might find,” said my mother encouragingly. “There might be a message in a bottle from half way round the world. Wouldn’t that be exciting!”
To a boy, of course, this was a magical invitation to gather widely. I remember dragging a fine specimen of seaweed for several miles to where we were staying as someone had told me that it would help forecast the weather. If it was damp, it would rain and if dry then it would be fine. The trouble was that after a couple of days it began to smell and if it was damp, it was raining!
As far as messages in bottles were concerned, the only one I found was from a holiday maker in the next bay. And that coconut husk which I fondly imagined had come from some South Sea island had, in all probability, been tossed overboard from a ship just off the coast.
Would that I had a camera in those days. I would now have a picture of a sea mine, a relic of World War II, which had washed up on a Devon beach instead of just a rusty spine from that lethal weapon (fortunately made safe before I came across it) buried somewhere in my garage in a dusty box.
Now, umpteen decades later, I still thrill to walking a beach albeit on the other side of the world. But now I do not drag seaweed home, nor do I fill a bucket with seashells. I photograph them; my camera my constant companion on my meanderings.
I do make some exceptions, however, and I have on my desk, an unusual stone which appears quite porous and which has a hole right through it, fortuitously, just the right size to hold a pen. And, scattered on various shelves are bits of driftwood worn smooth by the sea’s action.
I like walking a beach whether it is a gentle stroll on a hot sunny day or a bracing walk during a storm. On nature’s stage you never know what you might find.

Bridge over River Conwy, Llanrwst, North Wales

Bridge over River Conwy, Llanrwst, North Wales

by David Bigwood

“Welsh Rarebit, please and a pot of tea.” After all, when in Rome etcetera and when in the tea room of Tu Hwnt I’r Bont (Beyond the Bridge) on the banks of the River Conwy in Llanrwst then Welsh Rarebit — or Welsh Rabbit as it has been called — seemed to be the way to go. However, whether this cheese dish is originally Welsh seems unclear although the Welsh apparently have had a taste for cheese going back many centuries. In fact, in 1542 the first record of cheese being cooked does come from the Principality. My cousin, a one time resident of North Wales, assured me that the dish was tasty and was certainly not rabbit.

Having settled on my lunch it was time to survey my surroundings. I was intrigued to see several marks on a post near our table which showed the river levels reached by various floods. Had I been sitting where I was when the water came in I would have been, depending on which year it was, wet to the knees, soaked to halfway up my chest or having difficulty keeping my head above water.

It was a sobering thought that the Conwy, at present a sleepy, shallow river far below us and well within its appointed course could turn into a raging torrent submerging all in its path when the rains tumble down in the hills at its upper reaches.

But then, the flooding was one of the few things I could remember of my last visit to this historic Welsh town when I was five. The others were of the distinctive bridge across the river and of seeing what I remember as an army lorry with a wheel stuck in a large pothole on the bridge.

It is strange what impresses a child’s mind — a bridge, a lorry, a flood but no remembrances of the different language that everybody seemed to be speaking.

And, they are still speaking it and displaying it and being very rightly proud of it. And, as I found out that night in the bar of the Eagles Hotel which stands grandly on the banks of the River Conwy near the bridge I had remembered, they are also very proud of the history of their town and are actively working to ensure that it is kept alive. I met a group from the local Historical Society and was fired by their enthusiasm to find out more about their town.

I started the following morning by visiting the renovated almshouses that had been established in 1610 by Sir John Wynne of Gwydir as The Jesus Hospital to house 12 men over the age of 65 for the rest of their lives. During its sometimes turbulent existence the building has survived an attempt by the descendants of Sir John to avoid paying for its upkeep, a re-organisation in 1851 as the St Paul’s Almshouses, the re-naming as the Hospital of Sir John Wynne of Gwydir in 1927, the condemnation as unfit for human habitation when the last inmate died in 1976, a hurricane in 1987 which brought down the roof, and a threat of demolition until at last its future was secured when in 1996, its renovation began.

The Sir John Wynne Charity and the Llanrwst Almshouses Trust under guidance from the Llanrwst Town Council and with the help of Lottery Grants began to carefully restore the old building until in April 2002, after six years concentrated effort, the building was opened as a museum to which 10,000 visitors came in the first eighteen months.

Llanrwst, cradled by the surrounding hills that rise from the Conwy Valley, is a market town and has also been a major cultural influence in the area with its clock and harp making. It grew beside a crossing of the River Conwy where the famous bridge, reputedly designed by Inigo Jones to replace an earlier structure, was built in 1636. That it is, after almost 370 years, still carrying modern traffic is a tribute to the designer although the first attempt at constructing it failed as the workers managed to insert the keystone upside down after apparently partaking of the ale in the local hostelry at lunchtime. The bridge collapsed but, with the builders restricted to buttermilk, the second attempt was successful.

The bridge has only a single lane and because of its steepness, drivers cannot see if there is another vehicle on the far side so much reversing takes place. My cousin told me, “The local rule is that whichever vehicle gets its front wheels over the crown of the bridge first has right of way.” It seems to work rather well.

The Romans knew the Conwy Valley as they tramped the hills prospecting for minerals. One of their legacies to us is the spa at Trefriw, a village close to Llanrwst, where the iron laden water that percolates through the hill is packaged and distributed world-wide. I was fascinated by the ageless drip, drip of the water from the stalactites into clear pools during my tour of the spa.

Nearby are the Trefriw Woollen Mills where cloth is woven from the fleece of local sheep. Some is much like Harris Tweed in character and my cousin was loud in her praise of the enduring qualities of this Welsh cloth. A tour of the mills is available.

Other places in or near Llanrwst worth visiting include Gwydir Castle on the Caernarfonshire side of the Conwy, the home of Sir John Wynne, the founder of the almshouses. It dates from the 16th Century and is open to the public and has a magnificent 17th century dining room the carved and gilded panelling of which was restored in 1998 when it was returned from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York where it had been in storage since being bequeathed to the museum on the death of William Randolph Hearst who had bought the panels at an auction in 1921.

On the same side of the river near the bridge is the 15th century Tu Hwnt I’r Bont where I had my lunch — I do recommend their Welsh Rarebit. This cottage with its winding staircase to the upper storey and dormer windows that look out over the river to the town beyond, was used in its early days as a court house and has also been a private residence before its conversion to a tea room. It is closed between the end of November and Easter.

In the town, near the Almshouses, is the church of St Grwst and its Gwydir Chapel in which is the stone coffin of Llywelyn the Great and many memorabilia of the Wynne family. The church was originally a thatched building built in the 12th century and re-built after its destruction by fire in 1470.

The Wynnes of Gwydir had much influence on the shape of Llanrwst including the building of the Eagles Hotel in which I stayed. The story goes that Sir John did not much like his in-laws so to avoid their staying with him in his castle, he built them this dwelling on the other side of the river.

Llanrwst is ideally suited as a touring base with its proximity to its more famous neighbour, Betws-y-Coed, the coast at Llandudno, Snowdonia, the Ffestiniog Railway and much more. But, do visit the Almshouses Museum and learn about the history of this Welsh market town and admire the enthusiasm of the locals who have rescued a derelict building and turned it into not only a museum but also a meeting place for community groups so that it is a living memorial to the days gone by.

Words are my Business

Problems with writing?
David Bigwood is ready to help.

Member of the Australian Society of Authors
Licentiate of the Royal Photographic Society

Global service in English

Website and blog
www.davidbigwoodpublishing.wordpress.com
Examples of my writing available here

Charges by the hour. No other or ongoing fees.
Regularly published article writer
Former columnist for a UK photography magazine
Experienced in formatting e-books and
print on demand books and books for printing
Edits writing for businesses
Advises writers on self-publishing
Experienced interviewer
both face to face and by e-mail

You Never Know What You Might Find

by David Bigwood

“Come on, David, get your Mac on!”

My mother’s words floated back through time as I stood, cup of tea in hand, by the beachside hotel’s window staring at the gloomy scene.

“Come on! You never know what you might find.”

Then it had been the Atlantic sweeping into a North Wales beach, now it was the Pacific pounding the Australian east coast. Then it was a family holiday and holidays meant the beach and never mind the weather. Now it was a short break from work with nobody to urge me out into the storm. Mother knew a thing or two about children, after all, she was a teacher and what better way was there of encouraging children to walk a beach in the rain than to suggest that they may find something exciting?

To a boy, of course, this was a magical invitation to gather widely. I remember dragging a fine specimen of seaweed for several miles to where we were staying as someone had told me that it would help forecast the weather. If it was damp, it would rain and if dry then it would be fine. The trouble was that it quickly began to smell and if it was damp, it was raining!

I half smiled at the memory and carried on viewing the murky scene outside. The only concession to dawn was a lightening of the grey lowering clouds hanging above the rolling white-capped waves in the east. The gale-driven sea surged onto the sandy beach well above the usual high water mark even though there was still an hour or so to high tide. God, it looked bleak.

I turned away and headed for my room. A morning’s reading was on the cards. A comfortable chair in the warm lounge beckoned. As I crossed the foyer heading for the lounge a family group passed me well wrapped up against the weather and I saw my parents, my sister and me all those years ago and I stopped in my tracks.

Why not? If it’s too bad you can always come back, You never know what you might find.

My spirits lifted and in no time I was back in my room swapping my book for my wet weather gear. As I returned to the foyer I admit to having second thoughts — ‘you’re going to regret this’ rang through my head and as I stepped through the doors I almost turned around and headed back into sanctuary.

But, I pulled up the collar of my waterproof jacket and, head down, set off along the beach. Here, seagulls swooped over the breaking surf then climbed and hung almost motionless as they faced into the wind while there groups of their kin stood imperturbably, feathers ruffled, upon the wet sand.

Mother would have called this ideal beachcombing weather. She would have pointed out the clumps of seaweed that had been ripped from the ocean floor and wondered if they hid a message in a bottle perhaps or something that had floated half way around the world. In my boyhood that was all that was needed for me to start hunting.

One day I did unearth a bottle but the message had only come from a holiday maker in the next bay. And the coconut husk which I fondly imagined had come from some South Sea island had, in all probability, been tossed overboard from a ship just off the coast.

That was then when finding odd things was fun but this is now when the sheer joy was the feel of the wind and rain in my face reawakening the love of nature in my soul.

Mother was right, you never know what you might find.

copyright David Bigwood

I look at a beach and see a stage. A stage with never-ending, always changing scenes. Dramas are played out until the tide, like a massive moving curtain, descends and writes, ‘The End’.

But, it never is the end for the curtain rises again just as it has since time immemorial and drama resumes its rightful place. The ever continuing tussle between life and death takes centre stage while on stage right and left more mundane plays are acted out as the many creatures that make the sand their home as the tide sits above them, begin their housekeeping. Some, such as the sand bubbler crabs, inadvertently produce transitory artistic works as they toss their waste sand balls onto the beach.

Just as in a theatre, props play a part on our sandy stage. Stuff tossed or lost overboard from boats finally ends up at the high water mark while scattered across the stage lies seaweed ripped from the ocean floor during a violent storm. Here also are fish or seabirds whose lives have run their course from old age or wounds or, worst of all, from the disregard of man who dumps fuel oil into the sea, apparently unmoved by the plight of the birds who become coated with the stuff.

My obsession for walking beaches had begun as a boy on holiday in North Wales. Whatever the weather, my parents did not believe in sitting in the holiday home; this was holiday time which meant the beach and never mind the rain.

And, what better way of encouraging children to walk a beach in the rain than to suggest that they may find something exciting? “You never know what you might find,” said my mother encouragingly. “There might be a message in a bottle from half way round the world. Wouldn’t that be exciting!”

To a boy, of course, this was a magical invitation to gather widely. I remember dragging a fine specimen of seaweed for several miles to where we were staying as someone had told me that it would help forecast the weather. If it was damp, it would rain and if dry then it would be fine. The trouble was that after a couple of days it began to smell and if it was damp, it was raining!

As far as messages in bottles were concerned, the only one I found was from a holiday maker in the next bay. And that coconut husk which I fondly imagined had come from some South Sea island had, in all probability, been tossed overboard from a ship just off the coast.

Would that I had a camera in those days. I would now have a picture of a sea mine, a relic of World War II, which had washed up on a Devon beach instead of just a rusty spine from that lethal weapon (fortunately made safe before I came across it) buried somewhere in my garage in a dusty box.

Now, umpteen decades later, I still thrill to walking a beach albeit on the other side of the world. But now I do not drag seaweed home, nor do I fill a bucket with seashells. I photograph them; my camera my constant companion on my meanderings.

I do make some exceptions, however, and I have on my desk, an unusual stone which appears quite porous and which has a hole right through it, fortuitously, just the right size to hold a pen. And, scattered on various shelves are bits of driftwood worn smooth by the sea’s action.

I like walking a beach whether it is a gentle stroll on a hot sunny day or a bracing walk during a storm. On nature’s stage you never know what you might find.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Of the hundreds of articles I have had published, only a handful were not illustrated with my pictures. Whether the words sold the pictures or the pictures sold the words is impossible to determine but it seems obvious that a package offered to an editor must make his or her job easier if they do not have to seek pictures to illustrate the words. There is, of course, the proviso that the subject of the article is what they want and the words and pictures are up to scratch.
If you are wanting to make some sort of cash return on the investment you have made in your photography, perhaps you should consider adding words to your pictures.

And, if you need help to get started, maybe my e-book will be helpful. It is available for tablet readers, including Kindle, or for reading on your computer at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/371690

To some, autumn signals the beginning of the end. It’s all downhill from here. Short days leading inexorably to even shorter ones. Summer warmth and long days, are disappearing. Gloomy skies are on the horizon. Cold, wet, and even colder days to come.

William Cullen Bryant, the nineteenth century American poet, wrote, ‘The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year’. One can almost feel him shuddering with distaste as he penned those lines.

But not all feel like Bryant. His compatriot James Whitcomb Riley exulted at the change of season when he wrote, ‘O it sets my heart a clickin’, like the tickin’ of a clock, when the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock’. And, of course, England’s John Keats welcomed the ‘Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ with something akin to open arms.

This ambivalence to the onset of autumn is common for many reasons. Sufferers of hay fever for instance are glad to see the dampening down of their pollen producing tormentors while those who suffer the excruciating itching of chilblains live in dread as the year moves on.

For landscape photographers, it is an exciting part of the year. Summer is all very well but at times our lenses get overpowered by the omnipresent greens of high summer. What a thrill it is to sight the first flaming torch that is a poplar tree in autumn.

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