This is a late post from my morning walk, I shot these images much earlier but only found time to sit down and write now. Yesterday’s heavy rain felt like an invitation, and I expected the garden to wake up with new life. I wasn’t wrong. The ground was textured with fresh fungi, and a few snails were slowly making their rounds, leaving subtle trails like handwritten notes on the soil.
I took as many frames as I could, but not every photo earned its place here. I saved only the ones that carried the mood I felt on the path, quiet, tactile, and a little mysterious. Fungi are fascinating to me because each cluster grows with its own personality, ridges, bubbles, folds, and edges that look sculpted by chance. Snails, on the other hand, are all patience and geometry. Their shells have patterns that feel timeless, like small galaxies spiraling inwards.
These subjects shine in black and white. Without color, the textures become the story, the damp earth, the chalky caps, the spiral shells against leaves. I shot low, close, and slow, letting the soft post-rain light do most of the work. Some frames failed, and that’s fine. Photography isn’t only about pressing the shutter, it’s also about choosing what to keep and what to let go.
I’m grateful for simple mornings like this. A storm passes, the garden breathes, and there are new details to notice if we’re willing to look closely. Thank you for taking the time to view my photos. I hope these small scenes bring a bit of calm and curiosity to your day.
~ Andri Cauldwell
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