Pulling my aching old body out of bed this morning, I saw the neighborhood was blanketed with a thick fog so dense that the end of our street disappeared in a wall of white. My inner photo voice told me to get the camera, get out there, it’s a great morning for photography.
My couch potato voice spoke up. Forget it. It’s chilly and damp. Make some coffee. Read the sports page. Watch some mindless TV. Vegetate.
I was going for the compromise, but by the time I’d had a pot of coffee and read about yesterday’s games, the fog had lifted. Photo ops gone.
At least, I told myself, get off your butt, drive down to River Parks and take a walk. Get some fresh fall air. Okay, but should I take a camera? Nah. You’ve done the walk a hundred times and clicked at every possible thing on the way. Relax and enjoy.
Halfway there, and now lower and closer to the river, the fog remained. Damn it. I did the walk anyway and everywhere I looked, the light was magical. Boring, familiar structures in the river bed took on a whole new perspective. Shadowy piers poked through the mist. Ripples in the water sparkled with what little sunlight they could gather. A sand bar lined with ghostly gulls looked amazing. Backlit spider webs, jeweled with dew, were everywhere. A movement overhead caught my eye as an adult bald eagle winged his way northwest.
Why didn’t I bring the camera. Will I ever learn?
Walking back to the car, disgusted with myself, I met a man with three young boys in tow, all carrying fishing poles. He called out to the kids. “Hey boys, hold up. Check out this spider web. An artist could never do this justice. Forget the fishing for a moment and look. This is what it’s all about.”
How true. I’ve never been prouder of a fellow Okie.
Mind shots. That’s what photographers call them. Those images you take with your mind’s eye when the camera is home in the bag. You can’t post them on the Internet or enter them in a contest, but you’ll have them just the same. It was a good morning.
Note to self: Next time, take the camera.