SWAN VALLEY, ID
August 21, 2017 12:02 PM
Mystics and photographers share a common interest: the Light is everything to them.
The Light.
I sat in the doorway of my van and watched the Light gradually soften and fade. I felt the inevitable.
Like Death, the eclipse seemed unstoppable. No matter who you were or how much power or money you held, nothing would stop this… this portent. This omen. This primal, instinctual foreboding.
Nothing could stop it.
The fly fisherman remained silent as the sky began to darken and the birds began to still. He packed up his rod and waded over to the bank to sit and watch.
Together, in silence, we stared skyward.
Then, suddenly, it was Night. A single star glittered off to the left while the ring of the Sun’s corona glistened and pulsated.
Silent. Dark. Small. Inevitable. Insignificant. Humble. Majestic. Words to describe feelings unnameable.
It was probably the most beautiful event I’ve ever witnessed. I wish the photograph did it justice, but it doesn’t.