A study in yellow: yellow wellington boots, yellow flowers, yellow strands in the cascades of her hair, yellow. She ambles, watching a world of opposites as it ripples in the puddles at her feet, the other She watches back. There is a quirk there, a difference in the smile of the She in the ripple world but she does not notice, enraptured as she is by the rain. She inhales, imagining the petrichor which will follow, and, swept up with the moment, begins to sway to the pluviasonant drippings and droppings as if they were music. Raising her hands, she laughs and the rain beats a little faster, a little brighter, a little more warm.
Rain. We have a love hate relationship with rain. This was love; accompanied by mist this particular morning felt magical, and so, in a small village close to the moors with the occasional passing dog-walker, we bundled ourselves out of the door and into the fresh air long before we perhaps had planned.
There was no plan, not really. Wait for rain, find something nice to wear, and enjoy it were the only things that could really be plotted out beforehand but it was perfect. It worked exactly as not-planned.
More information about this shoot, this image and the theft of this image can be found in this blog post. We would appreciate it if you could read it.