Flat light. Gusty wind. An April wood mostly devoid of signs of spring. That I was bushwhacking at all in search of something to shoot is a testament to my stubbornness after backpacking in a load of camera weight – only to toss it unused in a pile of last year’s leaves.

I set up in front of the only color around, a sprout of pink no bigger than the pupil of an eye, and waited for a lull in the wind, hoping for a shaft of light. Aside from a pair of resident swans on a lake screaming with frog call, the forest showed few signs of life. It is the blessing and the curse of this time of year – no ticks, no mosquitoes – no fascinating insects yet to inspect.