This is the time of the year when wetlands in Connecticut burst forth. In a matter of days, seemingly, brown grass and reeds turn green, brackish puddles become blue ponds and creeks, and the once still air is transformed into a chorus of insect noises and birdsong. The wetlands are transformed from an impenetrable morass into a place where you can slip through the reeds in a canoe. The wetlands attract bugs and birds, frogs and fish, wildlife and people. The wetlands provides more biodiversity than any other ecosystem.
To some, wetlands offer little in the way of beauty. They lack the drama I think most people would associate with beautiful landscapes. There is no strong central focus point as with mountains . Instead, the wetland, like the jungle or prairie grasslands, have a more diffuse randomness about them. There seems to be no discernible subject. It is something like comparing the structured formal Japanese garden to a loose, seemingly overgrown, English country garden; both are beautiful, but different.
I have been to the Great American West, have driven cross country more than once. I have approached the Rockies from the east, and seen how their size, at a distance, is deceptive. One has time to become intimidated by their grandeur; to start to feel small, if not insignificant. I admire the work of photographers who have given us the big dramatic images that convey, if only in part, the scale of that landscape. I live and photograph in a different place where the landscape is more on the human scale. The distances are walkable, the sky not so big. It’s home to me; it’s comfortable.
Pentax K5IIs with 15mm f4 lens, processed with Nik Snapseed® on my iPad Air.