Fifty digital photos and I am still looking for the perfect capture of sea and tide. The Buddhist is perched above me on this coastal rock, his face buried in a book. He looks up at me and smiles, unaware of my inner frustration.
The waves form a pattern and I wait for the moment to hit that little round button on my new ever so clever phone.
There! Click. Fifty one.
Now. Click. Fifty two.
Hmmm. Timings off...
OK. NOW. Click. Fifty three...
All at once, I am transported back to a trip to Maine with my family in the mid 1970s. I am thirteen and have my Kodac 126 camera dangling from my wrist, an up grade from my old Brownie camera (which I would kill to own now). Babysitting money and allowance have combined to grant me two cartridges of film- a whopping forty eight photos for a one week trip. I am fully aware that more babysitting and allowance will be necessary upon my return to extract the images from the cartridges.
Forty eight photos? How did I ever decide what was worthy of setting my eye to the view finder and pressing down the button. That "Kodak Moment" sign was yet to be in vogue, so I had to rely on my instincts. Not too many photos the first few days. Make it last! Make it last! Followed by too many photos of something stupid on the last day...
Yet, the beauty of this primitive photographic system was that I was present every second of my trip. I experienced the rocks and the tide through my eyes, not a camera's lens.
AND I had to wait a week after vacation to see the results of my photo prowess. No do overs. No obsession. I wasn't musing over memories while still making them.
I laugh, turn my phone off and wave to my spouse.
Showing posts with label Acadia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Acadia. Show all posts
Friday, September 12, 2014
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Moonrise Kingdom; the Full Harvest Moon
I shift in my seat, bored, as I wait for the show to start. We had arrived early to claim a good seat, and time was moving painfully slow. I glance to my right at my spouse and smile as I realize my pet name for him, The Buddhist, is spot on. He sits calmly with his eyes open and his shoulders erect. By comparison, I fidget, shift, slouch and sigh.
A couple near us is making quiet conversation about someone named Sheila. It creates a kind of white noise to the otherwise silent space. More people arrive, find seats, and finally the house lights dim, if ever so eloquently so.
We are on a cliff, one hundred feet above the ocean, facing East in Acadia National Park. The Buddhist and I are on camp chairs, but most others have stadium seats or blankets. We all seem to be perched here for the same show: the Full Harvest Moon Rise, yet that can't be confirmed as there were no tickets, no posted show times.
Obscured from view by the cliff, the last of the sunset fades into the west giving the sky and sea a serene sepia tinge. I grow expectant as I have never seen a Moonrise. In my usual haunts,the Moon must top trees or mountains for me to see it. I wonder how it will begin and think to ask those around us if anyone has seen this before. But the couple has stopped talking and the quiet is enveloping.
The foretold time of the moon rise is at hand and both my partner and I scan the horizon for signs. Will it be a glow? Or just a big shiny quarter rising from the sea?
Minutes pass, then tens of minutes, then a half hour. Did the all knowing internet give us false information? Are we missing some subtle shift to indicate that the Moon was on its way? I gaze sharper, aware that no one else is moving or shifting. I see a star, then several, as peace sweeps over me. I note my stillness. The impatience is gone.
As the sky blackens around us, a chill sets into my bones. I see a pocket of sky clear and there, briefly, is the Trickster Moon, already risen and going about its trajectory. The sky closes like a curtain. The show was over before it had begun.
"There" I say, pointing. The Buddhist nods, having seen it too. Low clouds on the horizon, unseen in the changing twilight, had concealed the very thing we sought.
"That was beautiful" he says and I smile and agree.
A couple near us is making quiet conversation about someone named Sheila. It creates a kind of white noise to the otherwise silent space. More people arrive, find seats, and finally the house lights dim, if ever so eloquently so.
We are on a cliff, one hundred feet above the ocean, facing East in Acadia National Park. The Buddhist and I are on camp chairs, but most others have stadium seats or blankets. We all seem to be perched here for the same show: the Full Harvest Moon Rise, yet that can't be confirmed as there were no tickets, no posted show times.
Obscured from view by the cliff, the last of the sunset fades into the west giving the sky and sea a serene sepia tinge. I grow expectant as I have never seen a Moonrise. In my usual haunts,the Moon must top trees or mountains for me to see it. I wonder how it will begin and think to ask those around us if anyone has seen this before. But the couple has stopped talking and the quiet is enveloping.
The foretold time of the moon rise is at hand and both my partner and I scan the horizon for signs. Will it be a glow? Or just a big shiny quarter rising from the sea?
Minutes pass, then tens of minutes, then a half hour. Did the all knowing internet give us false information? Are we missing some subtle shift to indicate that the Moon was on its way? I gaze sharper, aware that no one else is moving or shifting. I see a star, then several, as peace sweeps over me. I note my stillness. The impatience is gone.
As the sky blackens around us, a chill sets into my bones. I see a pocket of sky clear and there, briefly, is the Trickster Moon, already risen and going about its trajectory. The sky closes like a curtain. The show was over before it had begun.
"There" I say, pointing. The Buddhist nods, having seen it too. Low clouds on the horizon, unseen in the changing twilight, had concealed the very thing we sought.
"That was beautiful" he says and I smile and agree.
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