Each afternoon as I drive south on Bandera Highway going barely over 55mph, I look at the dashboard clock–never looking further down at my wristwatch but, rather, glancing downward at the dashboard clock–and check the time. Then I check my phone’s weather app–because, let’s face it, the dashboard doesn’t have one of those–and see when sunset is. (Just kidding: I generally know when it is, and I don’t pick up my phone.) I look at the sky and see if my entry along Comanche Trace Drive is going to coincide with the painting that God is doing tonight in the western sky.
As I pull onto the Drive, I slow and then pull off to the right, behind the tree that has the 4-inch block of limestone to its left. I get out, leaving the engine running, and with my phone I walk forward to the second concrete crack past the tree. Always the same place. I stand in alignment with the trees, and I am in fact in the same longitude and latitude each time. I then take my phone and allow the tree ahead of me to take up 2/3rds of the golden triangle vertical space and let a little bit of the road in. Trying to get the same framing each time. I tell myself one of these days I’m going to find the good tripod in the garage and mount the good digital camera on that and come back. Maybe mark the spot with something, so that I can OCD-capture this same view each night of God’s handiwork.
(I’m aware that the Greek word used in Ephesians 2:10 and translated often as handiwork, craftsmanship, or workmanship–poīema–applies both to humans and also to sunsets and clouds and trees. But probably not to most bugs. Maybe it applies to cicadas if I’m not looking at them. Praying mantises in theory. No cockroaches of any kind under any circumstances. I hate bugs, though God might have a purpose for them that’s too lofty for me to understand. And re: mosquitoes…they must be quite a bit loftier-intentioned than I can imagine on my best days. Mosquitoes and silverfish.)
I take a couple quick shots with the native iPhone photography app and then with the Camera+ app, so that I can later manipulate all in the latter app and see which comes out best.
When I was living in the garage apartment on Washington Street, I was fascinated by the reflection of the tree on the tin roof over the car park.
Here, it’s the light as it says “welcome home” and “goodnight.”
Biscuit Aisle 