The Hoverfly and the Half-Empty Morning

Some shoots give you a portfolio piece.
Others give you a quiet nudge to keep going.

This is a short story about the second kind — and a small insect that helped me stay.

The unexpected moment that helped turn the morning around.

The alarm went off at 5 a.m.

I gave myself a few minutes to gather myself — not to meditate or do breathing exercises, just to sit on the edge of the bed, question my decisions, and locate my socks. By 6, I was in the woods — camera kit slung over my shoulder, thermos with a cool drink in hand, and the kind of morning light that tells you it’s already going to be a warm one.

A warm start. Already 18°C by 6 a.m., and not a single cloud in sight.

No fog. No golden beams. Just clear skies turning a lazy blue, and air that somehow already felt like midday. Eighteen degrees by sunrise — and not a cloud in sight.

Familiar Ground, Unfamiliar Feeling

The path I walked was one I knew well — almost too well. The bark patterns, the lean of certain trees, the patch of ferns that always catch the wind first. I love this place. But I was also aware that love can turn into routine if you're not careful.

To fight that creeping sameness, I chose a few overgrown paths I usually ignore. Part rebellion, part desperation. I was trying to see it all with different eyes — as if I'd never been there before.

It didn’t work immediately.

The light was tricky — some soft, some harsh — no middle ground. I fiddled with settings, made a few hopeful exposures, and after about thirty minutes, that old familiar voice crept in.

“You’ve done all this before. There’s nothing new here.”

I felt it hard.

That tug of repetition. That internal nudge toward giving up. I checked the back of the camera: a few okay shots on the card, but nothing I hadn’t already photographed a dozen times before.

One of those familiar scenes I’ve walked past dozens of times — still worth pausing for.

I very nearly left.

The Hoverfly

I ended up crouched by a patch of ferns. Not because they were especially interesting that day, but because I needed something to anchor me. I took a few quiet shots — more for rhythm than for results.

I was also trying (and failing) to get some B-roll for Instagram. You know the ones: tripod setting up, camera over shoulder, some quiet forest ambience. I’ve got enough of those clips to make a feature-length film called Man Adjusts Tripod in Slightly Different Light. But still — I tried.

Even that felt forced.

When the motivation dips, everything becomes admin. Even the creative bits.

And then, without ceremony or dramatic music, a hoverfly appeared. Buzzing erratically into the corner of the frame. At first, it annoyed me — hovering exactly where I didn’t want it. I shooed it away. It came back.

After a few cycles of this, I gave in and started framing with it instead of around it. One sharp frame, wings caught mid-hold, and suddenly, I was back in the room.

It wasn’t a portfolio piece. But it was enough.

What That Photo Taught Me

The settings don’t really matter — though for the record, it was 105mm, 1/200, f/8, ISO 250. Pretty standard. The kind of numbers that don’t shout, but get the job done.

What mattered was why I took it.

Not to impress anyone. Not for Instagram. Not to make up for a dull shoot.

But because it reminded me of what I love about photography in the first place: noticing small things. Shifting perspective. Staying long enough for something — even something winged and uninvited — to offer you a frame.

The hoverfly didn’t land on the “right” branch. It didn’t care about composition. But it changed my mood, and that’s more than most photos manage.

A Quick Detour

On the drive home, I decided to be a bit adventurous. There’s a woodland just five minutes away that I pass every time — one of those “maybe next time” places. This time, I turned in.

I figured I’d squeeze in a short wander before the usual stop at the shop for chocolate croissants — a non-negotiable after any sunrise shoot (and arguably the main reason I get up at all).

I wasn’t expecting much. I normally stick to one location per outing to avoid spreading my attention too thin. But something about the hoverfly moment had softened my expectations. I wasn’t chasing anything now — just enjoying the walk.

And while nothing remarkable happened there, the shift in scenery gave me a second wind. I moved slower. Took a few frames. No pressure. No goal.

From that short detour into Bencroft Woods — not dramatic, but something in it helped me slow down.

Sometimes, it’s not the forest that needs changing — it’s your head.

Over Coffee

Back home, I made Sabrina and I a coffee and we sat down in the kitchen to talk through my morning — croissants on the table, slightly squashed but still warm. Standard post-shoot ritual.

Essential post-shoot ritual. Slightly squashed, still warm, and entirely perfect.

(She didn’t come with me — far too early. She does love nature, just not at sunrise and definitely not without a coffee and a cakepop. Preferably one in each hand. Still the sensible one, if you ask me.)

I told her I’d almost packed it in. Said I was starting to wonder if I’d exhausted these places. That maybe I’d seen everything they had to offer.

Even as the words left my mouth, I didn’t believe them.

Some shoots give you a portfolio piece.
Others give you a lesson.
A reminder.
A nudge.

This one gave me a hoverfly.
And a croissant.

I’ll take it.

Location Notes

This shoot took place in Broxbourne Woods and Bencroft Woods — two familiar spots that still find ways to surprise me when I stick around long enough.

For Fellow Photographers

💡 If your shoot feels flat — stay a little longer.
The image you came for might not be there… but the one you needed often shows up when you're ready to quit.

💡 Try switching locations when your head feels stuck.
It’s not always about the scene — sometimes you just need a different path under your feet to feel like a photographer again.

💡 Film the uninspired days.
If you're documenting your process for social media, try capturing even the “meh” moments. People relate more to the honest middle than the perfect end result. And you never know — what feels boring now might be gold in a reel next month.

💡 Let go of the pressure to produce.
Not every photo needs to be shareable. If a frame brings you stillness, clarity, or even a laugh — that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

💡 Repeat locations are never really the same.
The light changes. The undergrowth shifts. You notice different things depending on your mood, your pace, your attention. Don’t assume “same” means “seen.”

Final Thought

Not all shoots are breakthroughs.
But the quieter ones — the nearly-abandoned ones — they still count.

Because sometimes all it takes is one insect, one extra path, or one conversation over coffee to remind you why you started.

And sometimes that’s all you need.