It is not always weather that storms. It is not always the beating, crashing, cataclysmic battering of the sea which causes the swells to drum their irregular chorus against the shore. The gulls had been quiet when it happened, when the spark descended and the Orarian was irresistibly coaxed by firm ground and cityscapes but they felt it. They felt the ripple of it. And they did not want her to leave. The colony looks after its own and she is owned by the sea. It rises in squall and calls her back, grasps the tenuous hooks of civilisation and pulls. They release with a faint click and are lost. Her dress feathers in the wind and she is the storm.
This image took two weeks. I shouldn’t choose favourites but I do and so far this is it. So much love and work went into this image. There is power there. I challenged myself and the challenge was a success. The Orarian has returned and will return again. Perhaps one of my favourite shoots, I will never get enough of it.
I decided to be playful with the word here. And I am in love.