Reflecting In Silence
Jun 16, 2025
I set out to Lake Julian with my camera slung over my shoulder, hoping to capture some waterfowl in the quieter, more secluded corners away from the laughter of children, sizzling grills, and the churn of paddle boats. I wanted stillness—nature unbothered.
But stillness was hard to come by. Every time I found a seemingly perfect spot, the birds remained distant, cautious. My lens longed for a moment of truth, something pure. The breeze carried the smell of lake water mixed with grilled hotdogs, and the distant sound of conversations echoed across the surface. A heron skirted the shoreline, just out of reach. Then, a Kingfisher landed—and just as quickly, bolted as I raised my lens. I sighed and slumped to the shoreline, ready to call it a day."
And then I saw it.
A single, curled leaf drifting across the deep blue water like a paper boat on glass. The lake hushed. The air cooled. The light touched the leaf just right. In that moment, God whispered, “Be still.” I lowered my heart rate, my expectations, and my lens. No birds, no grand action—just this simple, quiet gift.
The photo I took wasn’t what I came for—but it became what I needed. A reminder that sometimes the best capture is the peace we almost missed.
