This is a photo I never got around to sharing last spring, of the lunar eclipse that occurred on April 15, 2014.
It's not the greatest photo I've ever taken. Which is ok, that wasn't the point of taking it.
Some people take photographs as a hobby--challenging, but so rewarding. Some very talented people I know take photos, and then they use them to pay bills. :) But, I suspect most people take photos simply to capture a memory. We want, very badly at times, to freeze a moment forever. To always have a way to hold an event or place in our minds.
When I look at this photo, what strikes me most is not what it captured--but all the things it could never capture. I had a lot on my mind that night. (I usually do.) My heart was so very, very heavy. (It usually isn't.) It was 3:05 am, and our neighborhood was eerily still. I expect stillness at the lake, or in the country, but it is a rare occurrence in the city. The blood-orange crept across the moon until it was muted, and stunning. The photo can't tell you it was only 17 degrees. Jon and Mac were fast asleep. Apolo was awake! Hellloooo! I'm a puppy still, and I'm awake! I let him come out with me, and his paws left marks on the frosty grass as he raced silently around the yard. The photo can't capture how we could see our breath, or how he eventually came to sit as close to me as possible, leaning against my leg with his head on my hip. It can't capture the sigh as he closed his eyes. The only sound after that was the steady, intermittent click of the shutter as I released it remotely. This image is precious to me for reasons unapparent to anyone who wasn't present when it was taken. In truth, aren't most photos like that?
I'm cheating a bit with this blog entry, because it is a preface to one that will follow later this month, one that has been in draft for almost a year. It was too difficult to connect the two themes, but they are related, I promise. Until then!
It's not the greatest photo I've ever taken. Which is ok, that wasn't the point of taking it.
Some people take photographs as a hobby--challenging, but so rewarding. Some very talented people I know take photos, and then they use them to pay bills. :) But, I suspect most people take photos simply to capture a memory. We want, very badly at times, to freeze a moment forever. To always have a way to hold an event or place in our minds.
When I look at this photo, what strikes me most is not what it captured--but all the things it could never capture. I had a lot on my mind that night. (I usually do.) My heart was so very, very heavy. (It usually isn't.) It was 3:05 am, and our neighborhood was eerily still. I expect stillness at the lake, or in the country, but it is a rare occurrence in the city. The blood-orange crept across the moon until it was muted, and stunning. The photo can't tell you it was only 17 degrees. Jon and Mac were fast asleep. Apolo was awake! Hellloooo! I'm a puppy still, and I'm awake! I let him come out with me, and his paws left marks on the frosty grass as he raced silently around the yard. The photo can't capture how we could see our breath, or how he eventually came to sit as close to me as possible, leaning against my leg with his head on my hip. It can't capture the sigh as he closed his eyes. The only sound after that was the steady, intermittent click of the shutter as I released it remotely. This image is precious to me for reasons unapparent to anyone who wasn't present when it was taken. In truth, aren't most photos like that?
I'm cheating a bit with this blog entry, because it is a preface to one that will follow later this month, one that has been in draft for almost a year. It was too difficult to connect the two themes, but they are related, I promise. Until then!
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