The camera lay around the photographer’s neck at the ready as he traversed the paved path through the cities park. His sharp eyes had spotted nothing of interest thus far. Once or twice he’d put the camera to his eye and snapped a picture just see if anything came to light once developed. But, today, the subject matter along this path fell short of what he deemed worthy to capture along his daily hike.
He gazed up at the sky and wondered if rain would fall from roils of brooding grey clouds above him. Dismal, that is what the day was. This park was dismal and empty as well – no subject matter or maybe; he was just bored of the same ol’, same ol’.
His mood was beginning to match the atmosphere – dark and foreboding, such a waste of his efforts thus far with his camera. This path, a tried and true one, was a bust. Perhaps if he were to deviate from this path and take the detour ahead toward the water’s edge, it would scare up something interesting to photograph.
He stepped on the narrow dirt trail and followed it as it wound downward toward the river’s edge ducking wayward branches and stepping over deadfall as hiked toward the water. Not far in the distance, he could see an opening in the trail that opened to the river. Not a great photo but he knelt and snapped a picture which depicted how opposites can sometimes enhance one another. It was a serene entrance guarded by what appeared to be atmospheric turbulence in the distance. It should have a sign posted that reads, “Enter at your own risk,” he thought crassly.
The disturbing and depressing inner revelation of his own mind surprised him. No matter, he shrugged. Darkness can be corrected. Lightness and color could be added via filters which would enhance beauty where nature lacked it.
He continued forward with renewed purpose, that is when he spotted a target worthy enough to freeze in time.
If only he could capture the moment!
Quietly, he slid into position. First kneeling and then adjusting himself into the prone position.
He reached for the camera and removed the lens cap while he stalked the target with his eyes.
She belied beauty as she sat unaware of his presence on a felled tree, mesmerized by the lapping, flowing water at the river’s edge.
The frailty of the target in a moment of serene strength had him awe struck. Her beauty glowed against the angry, brooding clouds in the back-ground and portrayed the mood which this picture would encapsulate. It was perfect. She was beautiful.
He’d call this potential award winner, “Moody Blue.” He could see this infamous picture framed in gold.
Slowly, deliberately, he moved the camera to his eye, first playing with the focus then readying his finger to snap the shot. He could feel the excitement build; his heart pounded and his breath quickened as he fought to steady it in this moment where perfection lingered at his finger-tip. It wouldn’t do to ruin this picture with a shaky hand. A photographer, like any good hunter, needs a steady hand to shoot its target – breath control is everything. His breath eased slowly from his lips as his index finger hovered ready for action.
“Steady,” he breathed as a clap of thunder erupted above him and a wisp of wind drove a raindrop into his eye. Jerking in surprise, he snapped the shot.
When he opened his eyes again, his target had vanished as had the perfect moment in time.
Years later, the photographer admits to pulling out the discarded, wayward snap shot. He says it still makes him feel moody and blue. Yet, he continues to wonder what would have happened if he’d had the courage to talk to the beauty on the river’s edge that day instead of trying to freeze her – unaware – in a moment of time.
His only award from that day is in a still memory. What might have been a picture perfect moment gilded in gold is now only something locked away in his personal memory bank for no other but him to admire.
And, ‘Moody Blue,’ that’s the depression he feels on days with roiling grey clouds devoid of a picturesque beauty. They remind him of the gloomy rain day when he missed a moment meant to be frozen in time only to re-live a harsh lesson from time to time – when you live your life through a lens, don’t blink or you’ll miss it.
Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse
back of his head. Grabbing me with his teeth, he flung me into the air. The world exploded as I hit the ground and in half a daze, I crawled under the corral to safety.
flared wide and red and his white rimmed eyes were full of hate. His head and short mane were caked with blood and lather covered his huge black body.
my Dad and his best friend Frank.
The Trefoil Muse 
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