Click

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

A week ago on Saturday I cycled a marathon. More or less. Given that a 25 mile jolly through the southern section of a cycle path through along the river Taff and saw a few detours along the way, I’d say it was safe to assume that we hit the 26 point-something mark somewhere along the line.

Lush, green, Welsh scenery both flew and dragged by. Industrial pipes wove across the river, mossy viaducts towered over us peeked out in the distance. In typically Welsh fashion, most people greeted us as they passed, even the ponies. I purposefully took no photos.

For the past week, the sun has shone unseasonably on our fair, green isle. Yesterday I did morning Yoga in the park with seven strangers, sweating and laughing and stretching together without a care for the very wet grass sticking between bare toes, or the bemused early morning walkers watching us.

This afternoon, the wind swept in a thick, white blanket of cloud and October welcomed itself in. None of the sunshine of the past couple of weeks has been captured by my camera and the moment to catch it has passed. In putting my camera down did I stop looking or did I just stop trying to present what is already there.

Part of me feels nervous that I may have shut my eyes, but  other parts of me have looked more directly at the unfolding of the last of the summer. Soaking it up without need to document what’s been happening so precisely.

In the single click of the camera, everything seems at once easier, perfect looking. Quite often, images leave my camera looking perfectly framed, when in fact their composition and beauty (I’ll admit that it happens) are entirely accidental.

That click does not lie. That moment and it’s serendipity are true. But the space around it left out. The unsaid that surrounds the photo remains silent and with words, there is more space to fill, more imagination in silence. You can write silence.

So much can be captured with a click and the magic of training yourself to keep looking, if even through a lens, has been lifesaving to me. But at the moment, words are the way to inch into the uncertainty that I can’t accidentally frame with good colour and light.

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