How do I tell you this?
She delivers the beer while I am pulling out the camera. Are you a photographer? she asks. Two days ago I sat on a patio with Ken Murphy, a master of that very question. I have absolutely no right to call myself a photographer so I pause before answering. Enough of a stutter she answers for me, Oh, it's just a hobby?
I smile. Yes, I am a photographer. Another pause and then, A writer too. She seems pleased so I make sure she knows I've lost my mind lest she thinks I can make her a celebrity. If my family comes looking for me tell 'em you hadn't seen me.
She smiles, chuckles, says one day she'll do the same thing. Then she leaves to either take care of my sandwich or call the police. I'm okay with either. I take a sip of the beer and look back at the sliver of light. It's growing. I can see the silhouettes of palm trees lining the beach road, at least I think that's the beach road. Before long I am almost certain since large masses of shadow are revealed as the light continues to push and grow. Those are either condominiums or huge sea monsters coming to take us all. Again, okay with either.
I take a shot, check the lighting, feel like my camera nor my skills are going to show you this. Still I try and adjust. A few more and I set the camera down. There are large birds nesting on a tree on an island and I watch as they take off and come back. I'm tempted. Maybe I could show you them but there is just something about this scene, this light pushing the dark up, the movement of the water which has caught me still as if I moved, blinked, for one moment looked away, it would leave. That it is never real, that if for one moment I don't say, thank you, then it will disappear.
She brings my sandwich and catches the light. Well, it looks like we're going to have a sunset. It's been so dreary all day. I never thought that would happen.
I say as softly as I can so maybe she won't hear me and she won't think I'm crazy and I won't be taken off in shackles, It's a gift.
|Sunset Grille, Perdido Key|
I didn't get it, the shot, but I know you. You're the forgiving sort so I'll try again a million times until I have it just right.
Hi, you. It's good to be back.
I am grateful for the experience of going and returning.