Yesterday the haar made Westhill and Aberdeen cold, grey and decidedly unspringlike. So we headed inland towards the Highlands, through Banchory, Aboyne, Ballater and out to Braemar. By 11.00 the sun was breaking through at Braemar and then the skies cleared and they were a deep blue, by which I mean the kind of blue you feel you could fly into forever.
On the way we saw a red kite patrolling its borders, two swans reflected on the water along with the snow brushed hills and silver birch drapery, and high in the sky a long trailing skein of geese heading home.
I have become very fond of my small Sony camera, now 5 years old, and a much used gift from Sheila for my 60th birthday. It doesn't do all the technically clever things more expensive and more up to date technology achieves. But I resist the latest camera, not as a luddite or technophobe, but because I enjoy capturing a good photograph with a good enough camera - and my wee sony is good enough.
Yesterday I could have stopped the car and tried to get a photo of the red kite, the swan loch reflection, the geese against a blue sky. What I have is the memory of those moments of heart magic. To stop and take a photo would be to have merely the memory of losing the real gift of attentive joy in order to capture the digital image of those lost moments of true wonder, praise and gladness.
Yes - the swans on the loch, with snow draped mountains and elegantly drooping silver birch would have looked great on the computer screen, and on Facebook. But I would have chosen the self-congratulation of a good photo over the losing of the self in uncomplicated attentiveness and presence to the beauty that comes as gift that cannot be captured, and as summons which cannot be ignored; what C S Lewis called, surprised by joy.
The last photo, of "swift rushing water cool and clear" was a reminder of the ever changing movement of God, reflecting light, refreshing the spirit and touching with the wound of grace those places within us crying out for renewal.
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