“Oh! I wish I’d brought the camera!”
Yesterday I said that again.
It was still sitting back there on the kitchen table, where I’d decided to leave it when the weather had turned from icy-cold-wet to downright drenching and increasingly foggy. No sense thinking of picture taking now, especially if it meant leaving a warm, dry truck.
I had figured I’d drive alone to the allergist, then afterwards hunt up railroad tracks and maybe old stations to capture in pixels. (There’s a reason for this.) But the slop that was supposed to have melted by seven still lay, a great mass of tire-tracked muck on our back road by noon.
The predicted rain had come, but the thermometer wouldn’t budge, so those downpours just made the driving more treacherous. I couldn’t even take the few steps across the patio to the garage door, my feet had so little traction. Husband’s shoes had some (better than none), so I clung hard to his offered arm and slid my way over rock paving.
My eyes weren’t working well, either—hadn’t been for a few days now. So if he hadn’t generously offered to drive, I wouldn’t have gone. I even proposed turning back and canceling once we started fishtailing and wiggling around on our road with its many embankments sans guardrails and with water raging below. I’ve already done the airborne truck adventure, and once is enough, believe me.
No, no, he insisted, and chugged along, as I now clung to the door’s arm rest and did some silent praying.
This man has a long history of driving out to where the snow plows live so the roads can get plowed and sanded for us normal humans. My long history includes rejoicing in school cancellations and snuggling down, safe and warm inside on “snow days,” with a free day off from teaching.
So if I do go somewhere, I don’t usually plan to muck about in ankle deep gush, just to take some photos I could get more clearly on a better day. Therefore, the camera on the table instead of in my bag.
But how soon I regretted this! As we shushed our way along the more-traveled, less-slippery road our home road dumps onto, I began to see spectacular sights: Big hulking fog clouds lying at ground level, and, rising above their fuzzy edges, dark curves of rolling hills and mountains. Single long strands of cloud hovering just a few feet above the ground. Scenes like out of Lord of the Rings rolling out right beside me, one after another, each potential photo more dramatic than the last.
If. I’d brought the camera.
Well. At least I captured those views with my eyes and brain.
And that got me thinking about the internal camera we all carry around everywhere–but mostly forget anyhow. Or we don’t bother with it because we’re missing the spectacular around us. Too busy fretting. Or planning. Or checking our inner list. Or just in a bored-with-life stupor.
Here, today (in my warm, dry house), my memory’s enjoying those pictures my mind captured yesterday. But meanwhile, what potential amazing “captures” might the moments offer, even here?
Or there, wherever you are, today?
“He who has eyes let him see.”
Lord, let me open my eyes and see, and snap those mental photos–and maybe a few with a camera, too.