Walking the same route

The same four kilometres, roughly two hundred times. People find this odd, and I understand why — the usual advice is to go somewhere interesting.

The argument against that advice is simple. Somewhere interesting does the work for you. The picture is of the place, and you were merely present. When the route stops being interesting you have nothing left to photograph except the light, and the light is never the same twice.

In practice: the hedge on the second corner is unremarkable for eleven months. In late November, for about a week, the low sun comes through it at an angle that makes the whole thing glow from inside. I would never have found that by going somewhere better.

Most of what I like was taken within a kilometre of home, in the fifteen minutes before the streetlamps come on.