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Given Out

As I photographed on that cold, gray day in December and as I developed my images, I found the words of my grandmother, whom we called “Toppie,” rolling around in the back of my mind. When she was in need of a break, she would plop down in her rocking chair and say, “I’m all given out.” She meant she was tired and consequently had no more to give.

As I walked among the brown, dry stalks of flowers and weeds and among the leafless trees, I realized all the plants were given out—  listless and depleted. I also realized they, like Toppie, were only resting a bit until with a new surge of energy their seeds would sprout, green, and bloom.

 Little Things