I’ve missed more pictures than I’ve taken. Frames zipping by while driving, talking or otherwise incapacitated. It happens so fast: you see an image, settings float in front of your eyes and you compose, everything happening in milliseconds as you hit the imaginary shutter, before it all vanishes, swallowed back into reality.
Sometimes it’s a slow crash.
The fog moved in and I could do nothing but stare. Sitting in the restaurant, waiting on our evening meal after a day of boating, whale watching and wide-eyed adventures with the kids, I felt helpless. Here was a command performance in the works, everchanging and brilliant, the world posing for all to see… While I waited for my bowl of spaghetti. Trapped in.
I grabbed the camera and took a shot of the pier through the window, careful to frame it in between the couple sitting at the adjoining table, oblivious. The mist twirled in the distance as if taunting me.
I’m not a landscape photographer by nature. But there are moments which are inescapable, scenes too surreal and impossible to ignore.
I watched for an hour as the ballet continued, the fog like long fingers, wrapping itself around boats, houses. Nothing diffused or ethereal but tangible, like a mountain you could climb.
When we finally left the restaurant the scenery had changed, as I feared it would. The swirls had become wisp-like and milky, the mist spreading like smoke. I walked towards the beach and captured what was left.
It’s all we can ever hope for.