Light in the darkness

[Under African Skies - Masai Mara 2002]

I think I am going to have to start carrying my old compact digital camera in my car at all times. Several times in the last couple of weeks I have seen some spectacular photographs- well, they might have become spectacular photographs If I'd had a camera with me to capture what I could see. Now these scenes remain only in my memory, which is about the least secure place in the Universe!
A few evenings ago, for example, I was returning from the Induction service for the new minister of the Douglas Valley Church. Approaching Hyndford Bridge,* which crosses the River Clyde just outside Lanark, I looked over to my left at the rolling landscape which at this time of year is painted in shades of brilliant green.
The sun was getting quite low in the sky and casting interesting shadows, then it disappeared behind a fairly large bank of clouds. Not such an interesting picture. Then suddenly, through a large gap in the clouds, the rays of the lowering sun broke through producing a pool of warm light on just part of the landscape, like some sort of cosmic spotlight. Hills and trees suddenly became translucent with a fragile kind of beauty, like a delicate watercolour.
And I had no camera...!!
We could do with a little bit of light in these dark days of economic recession, the scandal over MPs expenses, and the upcoming General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, which opens today, faced with some very divisive issues.
There are always plenty of reasons, and excuses, for feeling depressed, but I like to remember that Landscape Photography is really about photographing the light and capturing those moments when the light transforms a place. In a similar way, we can never deny or escape the darkness all around us, but rather than focusing exclusively on it, it is often worth waiting for and looking for the transforming light.

*Hyndford Bridge was built in 1766.

Three, two one...

There are some aspects of my work that are not intellectually demanding, nor emotionally draining, nor even physically challenging (actually when I think about it very little of what I do is really any of these things, but it sounded good.) However, occasionally I get to do something which is just sheer good fun!
Today our local primary school were having a special celebration to mark their silver anniversary - a balloon release!! Yess!
Perhaps they should have held off until tomorrow for the theologically appropriate 'Ascension Day.'
On second thoughts, though, I don't think the kids would have lasted any longer. They were much too excited about the whole thing. There is nothing quite like a couple of hundred youngsters feeding each other's excitement and anticipation to near chaos level. I was beginning to think the balloons wouldn't even need helium to get them airborne: the children themselves were as high as kites.
The adults, of course, were suitably restrained and dignified. (I may, however, have some photographic evidence to disprove that last statement.)
I had the chance to release a balloon myself, but a much greater honour and privilege was afforded me. I got to do the countdown. [The real (and only) reason, of course, is that I have the loudest voice.]
And so after a dramatic count of 3 - 2 - 1 ... the order was given to "GO!" and 350 green and silver balloons (minus the ones that had already gotten away) soared up into the drizzly, grey sky helped along by an explosion of pure innocent joy on the part of the children.

I remember away back in 1975 witnessing my first ever rocket launch at Cape Canaveral.
Unfortunately we had missed the launch of the very last Saturn V (the Apollo/Soyuz mission) by a mere two days, but we did get the chance to see the Viking mission to Mars being launched on a military 'Titan' rocket.
Like some gigantic firework display it was briefly spectacular but it was the countdown that got to me most. As I watched the launch-pad through the viewfinder of my camera, I listened to the countdown on the radio and I could feel my pulse quicken as the numbers got smaller and the moment got nearer.
What is it about a countdown that gets some folk so excited?
Is anticipation of the future a peculiarly human phenomenon?
In a desire to find out, I 'googled' the phrase "science of anticipation" only to discover that there is indeed research being done on this very subject. Indeed, it seems to be the way ahead (or so I anticipate.)

Talking of countdowns, in a few days' time our General Assembly will convene in Edinburgh and as I will be a commissioner this year I may not have the opportunity to do much blogging - but we'll see. (You can follow the link above to the live webcast of proceedings)
Would it be wrong (or just cynical) to suggest that next week I might anticipate... a few balloons... lots of hot-air... and one or two things ending 'up in the air'?