The camera bag containing the instrument used to capture the below-shown sunset. It hangs on the clothes tree welded in the 70s from scrap iron. Rusted, the sculpture, now hat tree/umbrella stand, aged outside in the yard for years. The bag is an insulated sandwich bag in the form of a fly-fisher's creel. Padded, it protects the camera.
A trout protrudes from the mock opening at the top. The bag is marked by a red arrow in the above image.
THE OTHER NIGHT
as I rode with Walt Lohman to the Odd Fellows meeting, he had to stop at Brookfield Square to pick something up. I waited in the car for him and could not help noticing the blazing sunset. We had been driving east, away from it.
Fortunately, I was traveling to the lodge hall intending to capture some images with my LVD gratuity (never to be forgotten) Nikon camera. So, I got it out of the creel bag and snapped this picture through the windshield.
The symbolism of the evening in general was not lost on me. A brilliant sunset, (taps), a new event on the horizon for me in my alleged sunset years (The Independent Order of Odd Fellows).............
I thought of Dylan Thomas's poem:
- Do not go gentle into that good night,
- Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
- Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
- Because their words had forked no lightning they
- Do not go gentle into that good night.
- Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
- Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
- Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
- And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
- Do not go gentle into that good night.
- Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
- Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
- Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- And you, my father, there on the sad height,
- Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
- Do not go gentle into that good night.
- Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
