People had always fed our lake swans with leftovers of bread; it had been a kind of rituals for years, for generations I’d dare to say.
The grandparents who had fed swans in their childhood had taken the habit to take their grandchildren with bags of stale bread to do the same.
Recently we were told that it’s not good for swans, that they have to eat herbs and lakeweed, which are much more suitable for their health, instead of stale bread and stale slices of cakes; so we have been asked to not feed them anymore.

But the swans have not been informed of these rules and, when they see passers-by walking along the shore, full of hopes swim toward them expecting to get easy food, they are so greedy…
Since besides me there are not many other people by the lake early in the morning, swans concentrate their attention on me and then disdainfully turn their back when they realize that I have not bread for them.

It made me think over about the too easy way to get used to a kind of charity assistance which supplies us for things and take away from us a good dose of sound spirit of enterprise.
The swans look offended now as getting stale bread free was a kind of right, even though it was not the best food they can get. They will have to learn again how to find their own food now.

A morning metaphor….




All the photos of this series, which should be considered a homogenous work, compose a visual description of my very personal idea of summer. Each photo is posted on the same day it’s taken, they have all square format.
You might see also the others, if you have time.