Yesterday morning, the water beneath and beyond our dock was filled with fog. It cast a veil over the recently risen sun, the effect reaching around and into the old house.
I hesitated in reaching for my camera, for all good reasons (according to, well, me)…
I’d just woken up, my body and self were still acclimating to the day.
Hot coffee was warming my hands through my favorite mug (a most wonderful, squat design, thrown by a favorite local artist).
I was dry, while the world outside – both air and earth – was not.
said typed, I found myself drawn to one of the huge windows that flank our kitchen table, the outside world calling to me. The water looked thick, a little like molten steel. Its only reflection was starlight, cast by a celestial body some ninety-three million miles away.
Even that didn’t move my feet.
I heard, but did not see, a lone lobster boat.
puttputtputt… splash… putt putt… splash…
In no time I was juggling my camera, whilst ensuring the front door’s lock wouldn’t prevent me from eventually coming back to my mug, and coffee, and warm.
I took a step outside.
But for the familiar sound of the boat’s diesel motor, and occasional splash of a trap, the world felt as if it was still asleep.
When the boat came into view, the effect was what I’d hoped for… a wake of dancing light on the seemingly thickened seawater.
I stayed out for longer than the picture-taking required, breathing it all in… becoming a small part of the day’s unfolding.
Eventually, I headed back. I refilled my beloved vessel with piping hot coffee, and brought it (and my camera) into my office-slash-potting-room.
When I first viewed the image on my big screen, I couldn’t figure it out.
It was sepia in color, no blue or warm golden yellows of sunrise at all. It was also very dark on the left side, as if I’d had my thumb over part of the lens.
My very first impression was that I blew it.
But then I sat back, and let what I was seeing sink in.
I hadn’t put my thumb on the lens. The light was all our great star was able to share, with this corner of the world, at that moment in time.
The fog created a beautiful dance of light and shadow.
I was lucky my feet decided to take me outside to see… and be.
Though I could have – technology being what it is – tweaked the colors and shadows, I knew I wouldn’t. The image felt like … well… it felt exactly like it felt standing alone on the dock that morning.
Deep and dark, with a dash of hope.
Just before I saved it to a folder on my computer’s desktop, I noticed it.
The upper left corner of the image was very dark. But when I dropped my eye a bit lower, and to the right… just before the foggy haze was backlit into an icy gray… I could see a hint of sky.
To me, that was the inkling… the hope that the fog would recede, revealing the clear and bright blue sky of a crisp, October day.
Oh how I love a good – if barely hidden – metaphor.
I love Hope’s strength.
I rely on Faith’s certainty.
Faith makes it possible to find the beauty in the fog/rain/wind/uncomfortable, knowing that each will pass into its own lessons, if not appreciations.
Less than ten minutes after that first shot was taken…
Oh, look at that.
Thanks for readin’.
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