Thursday, September 20, 2007
Clouds gather before nightfall
Clouds and sun from a hospital parking lot
London, Ontario, September 2007
The scene: September 10, 6:48 p.m. London Health Sciences Centre parking lot.
It's already been a long day. It's been a shade under 5 hours since our phone rang with news that our son had been hurt. After dropping the two younger munchkins and the dog off at our friends' house, I've returned to the hospital with a backpack full of snacks and other stuff for what promises to be a long night in the ER.
Inexplicably, I have my camera bag with me. I'm not sure why: it's not as if I can shoot pictures inside the hospital. But the battered blue bag is an adult's version of a security blanket. It feels normal, comforting to have it slung over my shoulder.
So as I get out of the car and start walking toward the hospital, I pause and stare at the thick clouds obscuring the setting sun. It's just a quick moment, but I decide that later on, I'll want to remember what it felt like to stand there at that precise point in time. So I take the camera out and snap off the only picture I dare take that day.
Your turn: Do you try to remember quiet moments in the midst of chaos? Why?