First Light, September Morn

I don't even know where to begin. How do I tell you about a September day that was just perfect? That started out cool and crisp and gorgeous? That featured blue skies all day? That concluded with an absolutely gorgeous almost full Harvest Moon, which we watched from our front porch and then from chairs around a tiny table in the yard (like we were dining al fresco by moonlight, only the moon was really the main course?)? Let me tell you, but first I must begin at the beginning . . .

My car (a 1998 Mazda Protege) has been in need of some repairs this summer. Last month it was the air conditioning. And more recently some exhaust work. So my husband took my car to the mechanic on this day, and I rode the bus. Which is no hardship, all things considered, because the bus drops me off on campus. And our campus is beautiful. Full of lovely things to see in any kind of weather. But in weather like this? Yowza!

So I caught the bus, and I arrived quite early on campus, and walked around with my camera before catching the bus to my (off-campus) work building. Inspired by the light, I took several hundred photos. Of our recently renovated Lion Shrine, that was closed all summer but finally reopened last week. Of the first light hitting the tops of buildings, of it shining off the windows. Of the first ducks on the duck pond, cruising along in the cool morning water, sending perfect reflections scattering. Of the Old Main steps, with the perfect light turning ordinary hand rail shadows into something like art.

But when I rounded the corner at the secret garden near the alumni center and the duck pond, I caught my breath. For there on the gazebo floor was a set of enchanting shadows that I just couldn't resist. The light was shining through the trees along the duck pond, making patterns of the shadows of the gazebo railing. I snapped a number of shots, hunkering down, and finally just gave up and got way down, and started crawling around on my hands and knees with my bottom stuck up high in the air, trying to get down low enough to capture those shadows.

And when I showed the pictures to an online friend, she commented that "often the most amazing shots come from being in a really weird position, because that way you get a an amazing perspective." Amazing perspective, my fanny. Um, I mean. Well, yes, it was. (And the people passing by may have thought so as well: "Look, the artist hard at work! I can tell by her bodaciously round bum, which is thrust high into the air, while her nose is upon the ground!" But I digress . . . )

I took many photos that I was pleased with on this day, but in the end, this little series - of the lines of light in the gazebo . . . no color, just lines and shine - may have been my favorite. There was something about the perfect morning light that left me breathless, that reminded me that in the end the light is what it's all about. First, last, and always: photography is about the light, and how it loves the things it touches.

Is this world perfect? Perhaps not. But on a perfect September morning, it seems so. You cannot convince me otherwise as long as I have eyes to see. This world is full of magic and all things beautiful. A September morning still can make me feel that way.

The song: Neil Diamond, September Morn.

And here's a silly little P.S. to this post that may make some of you smile! Remember the ultra-tiny micro-mini-buns? (Here's a recent picture.) Don't let that innocent exterior fool you! I looked out the window on Wednesday evening to see a small flock of robins in the front yard. Maybe some of the robins from the nest earlier this summer? When suddenly, a tiny brown blur came flying out from under the azalea hedge! It was one of the micro-buns, and it charged right at those birds, sending them scattering! I was laughing so hard, I could barely contain myself. A micro-bun with bird-herding tendencies . . . who knew?