Chasing the Sun

The sun set hard this evening. It was red on the horizon and everything was tinted orange. Shadows were long and deep. They leaned on the houses waiting for the moon to expose itself so they could go off to bed  until the same time tomorrow. I jumped in my car hoping to catch some light before it was too late. My camera was slung over my shoulder.  It bumped against the steering wheel as I climbed inside. I slid it onto the passenger’s seat and started the engine.

I drove down Magnolia. At this time of night (7:30pm)  you are, either engulfed in a shadow or lit up like a Christmas tree. One or the other, no in between. I love taking pictures at this time of night. It’s quiet. Most people are at home watching TV or maybe doing the dishes after supper. Some are on the porch sipping a beer enjoying the same sun that I am chasing.

I photograph old cars. There’s a parking lot where Magnolia intersects Chestnut where  old classic cars are parked. On the corner is the local VFW. I can usually hear the voices of men at the bar cursing the bartender for something. The door is always open because I assume the place has no AC. Sometimes I see people on the stoop with cigarettes hanging from their lips. They hold high balls in their hands and pace the side walk inhaling the smoke from the cigarette. I see them, but not all the time. Tonight there’s just one. He’s a tall skinny man. He talks loudly on his  cell phone. I can almost hear the conversation. I pay no attention and cross the street with my camera.

I kneel down low on the sidewalk  and take aim. My self-consciousness about photographing people, places or things has all but evaporated. Maybe it’s the hot summer nights or my complete lack of dignity or maybe I just don’t care. I like getting low on a photograph. The subject reveals so much more of itself. It tells a  better story from that angle.

Hopefully the pictures turn out Ok. I’ll let you know.

Whether they turn out well or not doesn’t matter much. I just enjoy chasing the sun and taking photographs before it disappears.

Listen to this The Villagers

Photographs of Santiago Mostyn

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