By Neal Lemery
Like other photographers, I was excited about the Northern Lights being visible in Oregon. I’d missed the first night, but I was ready the second night. I carefully set up my camera gear, getting my cameras on the right settings, and I was ready to roll.
I had the perfect spot. A comfy chair on the deck, facing north, my favorite fleece jacket, a nice cushion and an excellent view to the north. With a mug of tea in hand, I sat down for an evening of great photography and learning more about my cameras and the art of photographing the night sky.
The twilight dimmed, and I kept looking north, spying a satellite zooming through the sky and the first few stars making their appearance.
Then, the fog and clouds moved in, right on time for the big show, thickening up and blanketing what few stars that had made their appearance.
It had probably been months, if not a few years, since I had taken the time to just enjoy the night sky, and be an observer. To be, rather than do, and observe, watch. Mentally, my to do list crept in, but I willed it to leave my head, so I could concentrate on the evening stillness and be in the moment.
Gradually, I felt the stillness of the evening, and let that calm percolate within me, the only sounds being my breath and a faint breeze. I could smell the damp of the incoming fog, and the coolness of the dropping temperature. The sweet smell of the honeysuckle, the Solomon’s Seal and other spring flowers was present. I realized I hadn’t been taking the time to literally smell the flowers and appreciate the spring flowers, and the beauty of nature. I simply hadn’t noticed, hadn’t taken the time to be a part of my own back yard, to be present in my little corner of the world.
I took a few pictures, being successful in photographing a rather dull cloud bank of fog coming off the ocean, a good study of various shades of gray. I began noticing the texture, the shape, the seemingly random irregularity of the fog and the trees and hills on the horizon, silhouetted by the scattered almost light of the evening’s ambient light.
The experience was subtle, calm, with the unspoken theme of contemplation, awareness, a sense of just being present and observing. It was a simple moment, yet I was becoming aware of the complexities of the light, the dark, the various tones of this gray palette that Nature was creating in its art tonight.
“The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind.” –Albert Einstein
I focused on my breathing, and on the slow, ever-changing tones and movement of the fog and clouds, the subtle changing of the light as the evening darkened, and the clouds grew thicker.
I found myself contemplating my creative works in progress, of working on my art with a renewed sense of purpose and meaning, of simply being in the moment with my creative energy. An overwhelming sense of fulfillment, satisfaction, of creative goodness came over me. I had no other expectation other than simply being here, in this moment, and feeling full and content.
Other photographers that night captured glorious photos of the aurora, dazzling and fantastic. I had nothing like that on my camera, yet I was still having a fabulous experience, exploring the gray subtleties of my fogged in observatory. I could mourn my missed aurora photography experience, but I had my own, rich in silence, contemplation and a celebration of the joy in life.
I found myself content, at peace, finding some time and space to contemplate life, to simply notice the honeysuckle, to appreciate its presence and its gifts to me that evening. I was in touch with my creative spirit, my sense of place and being, finding tranquility and inner peace by simply being where I was at, the observer, being the being and not the doing.
Books: NEW book – BE THE CHANGE – One Random Act of Kindness at a Time; Neal’s other books include: Building Community: Rural Voices for Hope and Change; Finding My Muse on Main Street, Homegrown Tomatoes, and Mentoring Boys to Men