On Friday, one night after the full moon, the light from the moon was so intense that it was hard not to notice the beauty in the sky. I couldn't resist and got my camera out to capture it.

Later on I read that January full moon is called Wolf Moon, named after the howling of hungry wolves lamenting the scarcity of food in midwinter. Thankfully, we don't have any wolves in this country, though the idea of experiencing the harsh winter wilderness sounds romantic to me. From a safe distance from any predators though.

Then I had one of those "why not?" moments. What if I tried to create an image instead of just capturing it? I don't normally create composites in Photoshop, but I quite often wonder what it would be like. Colin Prior once said that there are two types of photographers, picture finders and picture makers. I definitely belong to the first group. Most of the time I let the surrounding world speak to me and then react to what I see. However, sometimes I do have pictures in my mind, which are very difficult to find. And most often reality doesn't conjure up what your mind's eye imagines.

So on this rainy Sunday night I ventured out, equipped with my camera and torch, and a picture in my mind's eye. Surprisingly, I ended up on a deserted golf course just round the corner from our house. And there was everything I needed to try and create the image I imagined. I waited for the darkness to fall, and used the torch to paint a little bit of light on the trees. Then later on with a little bit of help from Photoshop, blending the Friday and Sunday pictures together, I ended up with the final result, which isn't miles away from what I hoped for.

Here are all the pictures I used to show how I got there.

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and a silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Walter de la Mare