The ones that get away

Twice, yesterday, I ran for my camera and returned too late to capture the image.  The first time, I was chatting with my husband in the kitchen.  The sun chose that moment to break through the clouds, and tiny streaks of light began playing around this angel on the wall behind him, creating angelic figures of their own.  Sadly, the sun didn't stay long enough for me to share that delight with you.

The second time, I'd gone upstairs to look for something, and there was another tiny break in the clouds. Looking toward Seattle, I could see there was a rainbow, though just the very bottom corner of it was showing, and the roofs of the houses on the hillside below were gleaming in the late afternoon sun, looking just like the gold nuggets you might see in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Again -- short-lived, but wonderful.

And that truly has been one of the gifts of photography:  I am so much more aware now, after all these years, of how fleeting these beautiful little light shows can be.  Like miracles, they're all around us, but we have to be very conscious, very mindful, to notice them.  They're almost impossible to capture, and, like moments of enlightenment, they tend to fade as quickly and quietly as they arrive. Which doesn't mean they don't exist, or don't matter.  In fact, the memory of beauty often feeds our eyes and souls for weeks and months to come...