Friday, April 13, 2007
London, ON, April 2007 [Click to enlarge]
Monday morning. I really need to get to the office, but as I kiss my family goodbye and try to keep the wiggling dog from squeezing out the front door, my eye is drawn toward something that shouldn't exist. Huge icicles have formed on the front porch overhang, and they're capturing and reflecting the morning sun in ways I couldn't describe if I had all the words in the world.
It's April 9th, I think to myself. It makes little sense that the weather is this cold, this late. But it's not my place to question why the water has frozen in such a gorgeous, temporary form. It is my place to capture it before it disappears for good.
I know full well that this will be gone by the time I get home this afternoon. So I turn around, brave the wiggling dog once more and fetch my camera for an impromptu shoot. Once I'm done, a quick onscreen review confirms that I've got workable images, so I head off to work.
Sure enough, when I come home, the temp outside is quite warm, and the overhangs are clear. As I write this four days later, I can't get it out of my head that I was meant to record the ephemeral ice before it disappeared forever. Poignant, really, given the news that came our way later in the week.
Something tells me he would have found this a neat image, one that only I would take. Something tells he he would have been right.
Your turn: Please take the time to capture whatever it is that could disappear. I hope you'll share whatever it (italics deliberate) is in a comment.