Today I woke up to a sound my ears have grown unaccustomed to; the sound of trees rustling in the wind. It is one of my favourite sounds in the world; infinitely better than the honking taxis, droning garbage trucks and thumping pneumatic drills that welcome each new day in the heart of New York City. I was staying with a friend in upstate New York this weekend, in the sleepy little hamlet of Croton-on-Hudson, and it was a blissful escape from the furore of the metropolis. I stumbled out of bed and made myself a steaming hot cup of fresh coffee. It was raining, but there was a cafe-style umbrella over the table and chairs in the back garden, so I sat outside under the umbrella, savouring the earthy coffee, listening to the pitter patter of the rain and breathing in the sweet scented air. As I sat there, I realised I was being watched.
I very slowly reached for my camera, and took just these two shots, before putting my camera away and slowly sipping my coffee in the most magnificent company I could ever ask for, watching and being watched.
Where's my backpack? 