105/366: HOW TO CATCH A BUTTERFLY
14 APR 12
How to catch a butterfly...
It was 8:15ish am on the ticking clock above the fireplace. I stumbled out of bed, or more accurately the couch, as I seem to have fallen asleep there. I groaned and dislodged my shoulder from the cushion and rubbed at my eyes clearing my vision from the haze of sleep. My feet hit the ground and I rocked and tilted trying to find my center of gravity again which had no doubt been captured in a dream. I took a few steps and made it to the window, pulling the curtains open a touch, so as not to serve up my own fried retinas for breakfast.
That's when I saw it. My entire body tensed like a lion honing in on its prey on the savannah. All thoughts of sleep and dreams were forgotten. I popped up rather unnaturally cracking a few loose vertebrae and Olympic sprinted into the kitchen. My camera was laying on the table still plugged into my laptop from the night before. I ripped at the cord and made a silent prayer that I'd somehow remembered to put the battery back in from the charge last night. I flipped my camera on and something of a seal squeal escaped my lips. Then still in mid flight, with toes slapping at the kitchen floor, I tossed the camera cap wildly onto my former couch bed. I ran towards the door, but it was locked and I had to run back to the key holder and yank my keys down to open the patio door.
Bare feet, still in my pajamas, I was out into the yard and within the embrace of the suns first few delicate strokes of the earth. One could say I wasn't quite ready to be outside taking photos, and neither was my camera. It was programmed for some other dramatic shot and not the one I needed now. Please, I pleaded with the butterfly, don't fly away just yet. That's when it did exactly what I asked it not to do. I looked up from behind the viewfinder with a level of exasperation just in time to see it land on a nearby plant. My toes found their way into the dewy grass. I kicked the switch on my camera to auto; no time, I thought, no luxury to find the right ISO, or worry about composition, or become annoyed that my flash was not attached.
The butterfly was off again into the wind circling delicately with the slight breeze which ruffled my already ruffled clothes. It landed and then the ferocious camera snapping began. Don't worry about anything I quipped to my frantic mind, just shoot. Then 10, 20, 30 shots were banged out in rapid succession. Every slight movement was captured. I'd been waiting for this shot to find me. I thought it would be on a planned trip to the local garden, not so much with my sleep face, bare feet, and a hungry tummy.
That's how you catch a butterfly.