Irony is an admirable human trait, so this week, let’s embrace it.

Whenever someone asks, “What kind of photographer are you?” I’ve typically responded with the enigmatic “fine art.” Although close enough to the truth, it has always left me feeling somewhat uneasy. Unexpectedly, last week, a more accurate and fitting term came to mind: “a photo essayist.”

Now, let me introduce you to my closest friend, Irony. Ironically, no essay accompanies this week’s photo, as I’ve run out of candle to burn at both ends.

So, I’ll leave you with this thought until next week: I’ve been eagerly waiting all year for the fruit trees to bear fruit once more, only to face even more waiting until they fully ripen — just another opportunity to practice patience. When the most delightful moment of the year does finally arrive, it will be an orgy of gluttony in the orchard, basking in the heat, relaxing in the shade, and witnessing all the energy-packed corpuscles slam into this rock and breathe life into it as it hurls through the vastness of space.

It isn’t lost on me that my explanation for no essay turned into a mini-essay. You’ve met my friend Irony.

And now … know the photograph.