I was at Barnes & Noble today and grabbed the usual assortment of photography books and magazines. One of the Brit mags that are so good. Photo District News. A few books I had seen reviewed. Random magazines I had never purchased. I set them down in a chair and slipped off to the bathroom. Upon my return, some overly-efficient employee had taken my stack off to be re-shelved. So I went and got them again. All of them. All of the books and magazines I had impulsively gathered. I flipped through an interesting book on digital black and white photography (heavy on photoshop, including a very cool sampling technique I had never seen and must learn and ohmygodihavetohavethisbookjustbecauseofthisonetechnique). Another one on landscape photography. I ripped through the stack with all of the cold analysis I would bring to a so many cases I might have dug up for a brief. Sorting. Culling. Stacking (two stacks--one for absolutely not, one to go back through).

At that moment, something clicked. I've gotten so into the technical side of my little hobby that I have forgotten what I love about it--creating, capturing, preserving and story-telling. I have managed to get caught (bound?) up in the technical side of photography at the expense of getting out there and pushing the button.
Driving home, I noticed a field of purple flowers leading to a metal barn that will be a great shot if the clouds decide to move out. I noticed the water-laden bunches of scrub grass in a pattern on a hillside next to the interstate that would look oh-so-cool in black and white. Spring is often thought of as a time of renewal. Liberation, too, I hope.