The One that got Away~Daylight~part 3

When I woke it was daylight. My body stiff; my mind disoriented. Why was I on the couch? Another moment passed. Suddenly I remembered. Remembered it all. The tree, the light, the ice crystals.

Had I really fallen asleep? Was it too late to get the shot? I ran to the window, slung the curtains wide, and it was gone. Evaporated, just like the fog of the night before. I hadn't stayed awake.

Between the boring magazine article I was trying to wade through, the warmth and weight of the basset leaning into me and his rhythmic breathing, I had been lulled to sleep.

The magic of the night before now seemed dreamlike. Perhaps it had been a dream. I looked to the floor. Skewed across the rug lay rolls of undeveloped film, my old camera, various lenses and a host of other equipment. Unless I had been sleepwalking it had not been a dream.

I fumbled for my cell phone. Clicked camera app and there it was. A poor quality impostor of the shot I so desperately wanted to make. The digital battery was now fully charged, its once flashing light now stilled, indicating it was at the ready. Mocking me. Tom's voice,"keep your camera at the ready." He too mocking me.

Tom, my adopted dad, thirty-two year naval aviator trained in air recognizance, spent years flying over the enemy,snapping away with his camera. Always,always at the ready. Even after his retirement he kept a camera with him.

He had returned to the family farm to raise cattle. After his death I had been left with volumes of boxes of prints. All mainly of images he had taken while at the farm. Photos of cows, flowers, sunsets, even rattlesnakes. If it lived, he photographed it. I suspect after years of documenting death and destruction, he found a type of redemption in shooting life and beauty. Rarely was he without a camera. If not on his body, no farther away than his truck. At the ready.

This was just one more time I didn't listen. Does he know? Was he perhaps disguised as an ice crystal, testing me? Simply begging to be photographed?

Tears welled then fell down my burning cheeks. Just how many perfect shots had I missed?