Moments later the sky turned a dark purple, thunder followed the bursts of static over the AM station playing on my kitchen radio; and a light, autumn morning rain fell.
I've got a home on the other side.
Having taken photographs, over the last two years, of two aging cats I was left unprepared for the elusive restlessness of Mac and Mitsubishi.
For every picture worth presenting there are about three blurry examples of a failure to catch the pair on camera.
The lucky moments can be found, but only through patience.
A day of rain in exchange for a magnificent evening? Yes, please.
Two mornings, two skies: while autumn clouds may lack the columnal dramatics of July's thunderstorms they draw the eye and the photographer, just after sunrise, through acts of evanescence.
My kittens have spent the last few days adding the apartment's many nooks and crannies to their realm with an ineluctable persistence. After the pair discovered the bathtub, the sink and my sock drawer, Mac spied a tiny, white arrow flitting from one end of a dark box's glassy face to another.
He gave chase.
Three months ago I told a friend that I would kneel among the yellow daylilies, camera in hand, and take pictures up close enough to see "fly spittle." It wasn't exactly a promise but I did indeed take photographs, an elocutionary flourish like that one begging to be fulfilled.
To how many was this, a canopy best shattered, just the sky under which we began our Monday morning?
I made a double adoption on Friday: introducing Mitsubishi and Mac.
