The light was calling to me one day last week. It was an irresistible call even though the usual after-work idleness was tugging at the seat of my pants.
I took my cameras with me and went for another drive to St Kilda. All the way I could not help but notice the way the sun felt on my skin and a strange but recognisable sacredness in the bubble of my car. Although thoughts came, some uncomfortable as is now usual for me, I quite easily let them go with the light of a fading day.
I never feel quite as complete as I do when I’m out in the world alone with my camera. In the perfect moments, I am not self-conscious nor am I afraid. Everything was glorious - the light, the shadow and all the colours in between glistened with almost visible energy.
Three times I tried to walk away from the sunset and three times I failed. Once, I walked so far away from it that my tired feet protested almost as hard as my soul was tugging me back towards the beach. The third time I stood on the seashore, I stored my camera back into its little red bag even though my mind was calling out “keep taking pictures … it’s so beautiful“.
But I already had my pictures. And my heart was strangely rapturous but still - it seemed to be cradled between the softness of clouds, just like how the sun was blazing pink and orange but seemingly suspended in timelessness. My heart felt safe and it beat with the rhythm of the waves. I added my silhouette to the picture and sat in perfect bliss as my world fell non-dramatically into place.
I had another difficult morning today, so I’m allowing myself to recall this magic and to try and bring it to my presence again.