I stepped out of the kitchen door and looked up at the evening sky. Venus shone brightly, next to an incredible crescent moon, a slightly bronze crescent against the shadowy full circle of the moon. I stood still, watching for a few minutes.
“I’d love to try and photograph this,” I thought. An amateur photographer still exploring a new camera. I wondered what images it would be possible to capture.
“Later, though,” I thought. And what I needed to do at the time actually was important, not one of those flaky things that often takes precedence in life.
It was much later when I had the time to remember Venus, the moon and my camera. But the sky had changed by then and, even from the roof, I couldn’t find the planet and the moon.
The next evening, I looked at the sky again at about the same time, hoping for another chance. But the sky was really cloudy and though I could see the light of Venus and the moon shining behind the clouds, there was nothing that called out for a photo.
That’s one that got away. One that is imprinted on my memory, but not captured for posterity. There are moments like that, fleeting, stunning in their beauty. They may not stand still long enough to be caught on camera, but a pause to recognise and enjoy them can be exquisite and enough.