Love Through A Snapshot: Shot 7
I gazed above and there I saw it:
Beauty before my eyes a star falling, falling, falling, falling
Falling in love with the sky.
To think that this happens every night without end and without cease
A declaration to the universe:
Eternity is like finger-picked hues of the rainbow,
swirls of orange, purple, and reddish-pink.
Eternity is like starry love
because when a star shows its love –
it paints it across the sky.
Proclaiming to the universe:
“Who can love more than I?”
And when the universe responds to this question…
the earth shakes, the ocean roars, how the thunder and rain… it rumbles.
All at once, you see eternity.
Eternity is a sunset.
With only 300 people in this village, I couldn’t help but think of the cartoon version of Beauty and the Beast in the scene where Belle passes sheep, frolicking through a field of wildflowers against the backdrop of the setting sun. Me, Amy, Jean, and Jean’s father Louis, we stepped over dried, long-haired grass, sauntering through the fields and trekking up soft hills. I could hear the sheep call out to us, as well as the occasional moo of cows that grazed. I could see my host family – a husband and wife – holding hands and laughing like two children madly in love – as we picked up fruit that fell from the trees and fed them to the sheep.
I looked over to Jean’s father, Louis, his suspenders tied over his tank shirt, his socks pulled up to his knees. In that moment, I couldn’t help but think of my dad. Maybe it was the socks part… or maybe it was just how Louis gazed with love at the animals and trees. The father would make a series of clicking sounds, beckoning the sheep in our direction. Jean, Amy, and I had fruit ready in our hands, our eyes wide-eyed in wonder at these majestic, gentle beasts. I smiled when one of the fruit would get close enough to the sheep, and when we ran out of fruit in our hands, we continued on our trek, reluctantly bidding farewell to the sheep that in response would “baa” back as their adieu until next time. À toute à l’heure!
By the time we made it atop the hill, the sky filled with warm light. Louis unbuckled a satchel secured over his shoulder, his eyes glued to the sky.
I expected him to pull out a camera of some sort, but to my surprise, what appeared from out of the bag: it was no camera. It was much, much better. The father took out a pair of binoculars.
If you’re wondering if the picture you see in front of you is an Alsacian sunset. It’s not… it’s a picture of a sunset I took in a different land. For on the night that I saw an Alsacian sunset, none of us had brought phones or a camera to this seemingly uncharted area of France.
Yet, no camera, no phone was needed to capture the beauty of this enchanted night.
The father motioned for me to come over where he stood, encouraging me to look through the binoculars… at the mountains which shaded the sun and the tiny cross upon a hill that could be seen from the distance.
In a busy, distracted world, maybe there are times we need to exchange our cameras for binoculars. And not even binoculars, but just to see with our own eyes, the true beauty around us – unfiltered. We don’t need to live life for that perfect-Instagram moment. All the clarity we need is just being present with our binocular of eyes.
We can’t always capture beauty in a snapshot. But when we do, why not paint it within our worlds?
Paint it across our skies.