When It Rains…
“Bold ideas, unjustified anticipations, and speculative thought, are our only means for interpreting nature: our only organon, our only instrument, for grasping her.”
When It Rains...
I chased a storm last night, and boy did it run. My trusty RAV4 and I tore through the empty streets of downtown Lafayette just before the sun hit the horizon. Occasionally peeling my eyes from the road to glance up through the sunroof, tracking the clouds as they rushed overhead. The shadows of the city around me began to show the tell-tale blue tint of a storm, and as the air started to cool I knew my window was closing. I flew up parking garages, sprinting down hallways and up stairwells while changing lenses and exposure settings all the while; trying desperately not to slip in the puddles of rainwater I left in my wake. Bursting out onto the roof, my eyes darted left and right, hunting for contrast in the softly beveled canopy above. Time was just an idea in the back of my mind as I watched the wind repaint the clouds against the vast tapestry before me. Fighting tirelessly to keep my eye focused through the viewfinder as the rain began pelting in around the rubber seal from impossible angles. “Just one more minute” I kept telling myself as my raincoat began to keep more water in than out. Suddenly I couldn’t see the roof next to me, or anything for that matter. Everything was white, then black with little dots of haze as my mind struggled to piece together what had happened. The rooftop next to me had just been hit by lightning, and it was at that moment I realized that this storm couldn’t care less if I lived or died trying to capture it. Reluctantly, I gathered my gear from the radius in which it had been scattered. In my haste, I had more or less ransacked lenses from my bag one after another, gently discarding them to the driest puddle I could find whenever a new angle presented itself. I wouldn’t allow for a moment to be wasted, as the storm was relentlessly beautiful. However, all good things must come to an end, and my time hunting for the perfect image was through. I remember following the water trails back to my car, listening intently to my wet sneakers penetrate the otherwise silent hallway as they slapped along the linoleum corridor, chuckling to myself, “there’s nothing like a squeaky shoe to remind you how long a walk you still have left in front of you”.
