My camera slipped from my hands
in early July
and plopped down
into swift currents
where it helplessly
bumbled along the rocky bottom,
flopping like a gasping fish.Time of death: 12:14 p.m.
I drowned the only camera
I’ve ever really loved.
And with it,
all the images I’d collected
like seashells and stones
As I bobbed along in my inner-tube cradling it’s lifeless form in my lap
it became hard to really see the river and sky.
Looking again came slowly.
I couldn’t replace the camera for several months
so I recorded scenes and memories
by writing them down instead of clicking.
(I’m a lot less fond of my new camera;
we’re taking to each other slowly.)
Here are a few of my favorite “shots” from summer
as I say fairfarren to the season:
~My sister’s face inside a cloudburst of seafoam confetti, nose squeezed into a
sunburned crinkle and smile lines bursting like the fourth of July
from behind her sunglasses
as we zoomed alongside one another on boogie boards,
rocketing toward the beach.
(first AWESOME ride of the day and we caught it. Together.)
~giant sidewalk chalk birthday card all pink and yellowy with love.
~Libby and Lucy (the wonderdogs) bounding into the surf
(rain had sent other beach-goers scurrying for cover)
and running like wild horses up and down the beach.
My heart joined them step for step.
~the aliveness shining on my son’s face after jumping off a waterfall
that had intimidated him….and the four year old in his voice as this manly guy
described his joy as he plunged from the ridge and dropped into the roar.
~A piece of sky near my neighborhood. I’ve had a crush on it for seven years this month.
It’s just the tallest sky.
~The sound of wonder in the low voices of my youngest son and his cousin
as their bodies leaned intently over the side of their canoe,
paddling hard to discover what mysterious pond creature had slapped the water. Hard.
Scaring them deliciously curious.
~the rowdy ruckus that has been my home as the boys of summer live out their colorful
lives like spatterpaint….raw, messy and beautiful.
~the stillness of a cornfield on my favorite backroad, N.C. Highway 49…driving alongside
with my windows down, I could almost hear the kernels turning sweet on the cobs.
~The quivery yet brave smile in her wide, sparkling eyes as my daughter
chose to follow the spot on center of her heart again and again.
~The sudden rush of unexpected splatter as my husband veered into range
of the night sprinklers in the park as we were driving home sweaty,
laughing in the spray.