Finding Henry: Discovering My Muse Along Chicago Creek
Finding Henry: Discovering My Muse Along Chicago Creek
by a.d. elliott | Take the Back Roads – Art & Other Odd Adventures
Dear Henry,
Have you ever reached a point with something you love, something that feels like part of who you are, where you wonder if you should finally let it go?
Fish and I were exploring the woods near Mount Evans, wandering alongside Chicago Creek, when I found myself in exactly that place. The setting was beautiful in every obvious way: alpine air, running water, weathered stones, and the quiet patience of trees that have stood longer than I have been alive. I did what I always do: I took photographs. Lots of them.
At the time, I felt productive, even hopeful.
That feeling didn’t survive the trip home.
When I started editing the images, I hated every single one of them. Not in a mild, “maybe this could be salvaged” way, but in the bone-deep way that makes you question your instincts altogether. The compositions felt empty. The light felt wrong. The images said nothing. I remember staring at the screen and thinking, Maybe this is it. Maybe this is where I admit that loving something doesn’t mean I’m meant to do it.
And then I found Henry.
He was there the entire time, a lodgepole pine growing right at the edge of the creek, but I hadn’t really seen him when I pressed the shutter. It wasn’t until I slowed down during editing, until I stopped trying to force meaning out of the images, that he emerged. His roots were tangled among the stones, steady and unbothered by the rushing water. He anchored the frame in a way that suddenly made sense.
Everything clicked.
I understood what had been missing, not just in that photograph, but in my approach. I saw that I needed to work with light rather than against it, that stillness mattered more than novelty, and that the photograph needed a quiet center, something that held the chaos of water, movement, and time in balance.
Henry wasn’t just a tree. He was a teacher.
From that moment on, I stopped chasing images and started listening for them. I learned to look for presence rather than spectacle, for character rather than scenery. Henry became my muse, not because he demanded attention, but because he didn’t.
And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
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About the Author
a.d. elliott is a wanderer, photographer, and storyteller traveling through life
She shares her journeys at Take the Back Roads, explores new reads at Rite of Fancy, and highlights U.S. military biographies at Everyday Patriot.
You can also browse her online photography gallery at shop.takethebackroads.com.
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