April 17-A, 2023

Photography is being where the photos live
and waiting for them to appear.

I stalk photographs
like a leopard stalks a warthog.

I troll for photographs
the way shrimpers troll for shrimp.

I get up early
to be in place before sunrise,
and stay out late 
to catch afterglow following sunset.

I wait, and wait, and wait,
for the wind to stop,
for the tourists to leave,
for the tide to come in
or withdraw.

Or did, before age caught up with me
and announced curfew.

My knees no longer allow
the airplane position,
which is also the driving/riding position,
and my yin for another moon rise
is supplanted by the desire
for an early dinner
and a book by the fireplace.

The idea of sunrise is met with
side-eyes and,
"Really? Another sunrise?"

I am soon to have a hammock hanging
in the back yard,
where inflammation in my joints
will appreciate my feet 
being above my heart,
with a camera resting in my lap
in case a bird comes to the feeder
or a rabbit hops into view,
or a deer strolls by,
or a wild turkey pays a call,
and I let the picture come to me.

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