January 28, 2015
(This is part of a 365 project during my 70th year where I write and
illustrate a blog on each day's gift.)
A second or just a few minutes, a brief time — when light
falls in a certain way or wind lifts the corner of a curtain—reveal something
in a new way. These are fleeting moments offered to us every day—like the way
light catches in a friend’s eye as she shares a story with you or a shadow
falling on a piece of trash—that can stroke something deep and unknown inside. Some
people accept those moments and then release them; others hold on to them and summon
them in a future creative moment. Some never notice.
Today I poured water into a glass to take my vitamin D and
for two minutes, the sun had positioned itself to cast shadows, concentric
circles, patterns and highlights on the kitchen counter. Knowing that this
scene would not last more than a couple of minutes, I forgot about taking my
pill and I grabbed my camera. I think this is part of the photographer’s belief
that she can capture time and create a tangible instant.
Regardless of my hubris, moments like this do much to change
the way I see things—forever. In the future, I will not hold this glass or
swallow a vitamin D pill without envisioning a scene of concentric circles and
highlights on the kitchen counter, the result of the juxtaposition of sun,
glass and surface during a narrow opening of time when I just happened to be
there. These fleeting moments reveal new dimensions, new layers that shift my
perception forever.
My gift today was a
moment.
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