As you may have surmised from two of my recent posts, the location of our house, facing east, situated on the west side of town, at the bottom of a rise and surrounded by trees, makes it hard to capture a clear picture of dawn. Thus, my chilly, early morning excursions. Occasionally I get fixated on things; this week my quest was to catch a freeze-frame (literally) of winter dawn. I was marginally happy with Monday’s results, although people who live closer to the water or get up earlier must see more spectacular vistas regularly. The rest of the week remained overcast and stormy which was why I failed to realize what was happening to the west, behind the house.
But post-shower yesterday morning, regardless that I was wandering around without glasses, I couldn’t miss the silver light of the full moon glaring into the bedroom window, which, come to think of it, would explain last night’s outlandish dreams. Once again, sans coat this time, I found myself trudging outside while temperatures hovered in the teens—with the wrong lens on the camera, but there wasn’t enough time left to rummage for the telephoto. Jiggling from one leg to the other, with my arms hugging my chest, I waited for the moon to tuck itself away in a yellow ball underneath the ledge behind our house, In the end though, it was too darn cold. Kicking the snow off my boots, I stomped back into the kitchen and heated up my oatmeal, thinking at the least my seat at the breakfast counter would offer a perfect view as the moon puddled below the horizon.
I’m sure it did. But as with all things involving the camera and nature, you need to pay attention. At 6:35, my daughter came out, we began chatting, and I missed it.
What things compel you to disrupt your routine?