-

Picture Perfect

The bride and groom were wed outdoors

on the bank of a New York lake

on a perfect June morning.

The water sparkled blue and crisp

like the bride's shining eyes

The perfect gentle breeze lightly lifted the folds of her dress

just enough to flow

and played with her blond tresses

framing her glowing face.

Her groom,

a photographer of flowers,

must have fallen in love

with her unfolding beauty.

Flowers bloomed along the shore.

lily's and petunias were carefully placed on the cake

along with the ripened strawberries.

Fresh, crisp and juicy

slightly wet

with dew in the early morning

flushed excitement in her pink cheeks

complimented the cosmos

adorning her hair

sparkling with rays of the sun.

I watched

as a guest,

a stranger of this couple,

accompanying my lover

hoping one photo of the bride

one image

could convey this ultimate joy of a summer day.

I voyeuristically focused that lens

capturing stolen glances,

intimate communication of the lovers.

I finally put my camera down

self adsorbed in my pursuit

of perfection in a photo,

so sure I had captured that ethereal beauty of the bride.

Lost in thought and anticipationof the moment of darkness,

that synergenic, paradoxical,copulative loss of self with uncanny, acute, awareness

having such joy and absorption,

being in the state of flow,

conscious only of the creating

then perfecting

the perfect print

while the sensual red light glows,

"CLICK"

then, "CLICK"

startled me.

I looked up to see my lover smile.

He was intently looking at me.

My camera lay on the table where I had left it.

Days later in the darkroom

with disappointment after diappointment,

the bride not having photographed well,

the flowers looking faded,

I looked at the final emerging image of the film

with great surprise

and a little jealousy,

tempered by pride and joy

at seeing beauty I had not before recognized.

All I hoped for was indeed compellingly captured

in my own, wistful, dreamy and longing eyes.

Co 2003 Msafire

�

�