Only For a Moment and the Moment's Gone

Tea: Chai

Music: The Jayhawks, "Blue"

Time: Night.

Hied myself to Homer's Coffeehouse in Overland Park today, to get some editing done and spend some of the gift certificate my fourth graders gave me for Christmas.

There was a stray pink glove in the snowy parking lot.

Horrid me, my first thought wasn't, "Oh, some poor person has a cold hand." It was "Oooh. Must take pictures."

So I did. Eight of them, to be exact. Then I went inside, had a mocha and a bagel, and plunged headfirst into words for more than an hour. When I came out, it was warmer and the glove was half-submerged in a puddle.

So, of course, I pulled the camera out again. But something was wrong. No matter how I tried, I kept getting my own reflection in the shot.

I may go back later this week to see things in a different light. Maybe the glove will be there. Maybe it won't. Either way, there'll be no second chance to capture the shot I missed earlier today.

And that's fine. I'd rather take my chances on tricks of light than engineer all the reality out of a photograph. There's something appealing in capturing an image that can never be captured the same way again -- which more than makes up for any angst at missing one.

For me, I suppose, that's the difference between a photograph and a photo illustration. It's an odd sort of parse, I know. Maybe it's because for me, photography is like haiku. There's a moment, briefly captured, that is sure to change -- and some things are more beautiful for being transitory.