Green. Closer. Closer still.
That's the whole route into this photo.
Blades of grass like bright straws, each one holding its own small collection of water. The drops sit on the stems and edges, round as beads, and each one keeps a tiny upside-down copy of the sky it fell from.
The background is just light and blur, soft circles where other drops turned into lenses and did nothing with the power.
I lay down in this lawn at six in the morning. Knees wet. Elbows wet. Camera three inches from the ground, which is the exact distance at which a lawn stops being a lawn and becomes a forest.
A spider's silk caught one drop and strung it between two blades like jewelry on a wire nobody can see.
The drops will be gone by eight. Evaporation doesn't schedule around photographers.
That's fine. The grass grows a new sky every morning and hangs it out to dry.
All it asks is that somebody gets down low enough, once in a while, to notice the delivery.
Consider it noticed.
#morningdew #grassmacro #tinyworld #firstlight
