cowpunk.
My neyme is cowe,
And wenn it’s daye,
The farmer-mann is far-awaye,
And busey with somme othyr junc,
So I meete my fryend
I greete the punkis he asking for their autographs
@a-humble-gremlin @blogteas the only version of this meme i will ever accept
Amazing
he’s reading them poetry
Today it’s time for confession and this is a pretty good picture to be confessing about. There I was in Scotland, just happily looking through the viewfinder of a Nikon N90 (sweet camera for the era) mounted on my 80-200 f/2.8 Nikkor sitting on a tripod, staring at Rusty and Tufty, two of the hulkiest Highland cattle I had ever seen. I was there photographing whisky country for National Geographic Traveler magazine and so I was in the Highlands town of Dalwhinnie, home of the eponymous whisky. Highland “coos” (as the Scots like to call them) are not exactly a profound photographic subject but I wasn’t feeling particularly profound, anyway. I just couldn’t think of anything better to point my camera at.
When suddenly, out of nowhere, this guy with Mohawk hair and a leather jacket walked into my viewfinder. I never saw him coming at all. Hardly had a chance to pop my head over the camera to see if what I was seeing in the viewfinder was, in fact, real when he pulled out a loaf of white bread and started feeding Rusty and Tufty, who seemed to be well acquainted with the drill. Recovering swiftly (I try to do that when good fortune rescues me from my general incompetence), I hit the motor drive and let it run.
Just dumb blind luck!
Which I will never, ever turn down. And I will always thanks the gods of fortune for shining their light on me for just a moment. And I will never, ever get over the feeling of just how wonderful it is when this happens, when the world presents you with a moment of splendid reality, when the serendipity of life just seems so deliciously improbable and yet so absolutely right.
Well, there it is. I didn’t deserve it but I got it. That’s my confession.
-Jim Richardson, Dumb Blind Luck