The Saturday night burn was long and sweet. Like a lasting goodbye to the one we hold most dear. Sunset came, it saw, it conquered. Anxiety fell still to a palette so bright and unmoving it was as though the hands of time ceased to be. Seconds turned to minutes. The minutes, hours. And the hours into untold epochs circling the wheel of time only to flow back on itself. As if under a spell I floated from one patch of sand to the next. Bounding from spot to spot under an endless curtain of rainbow color. So bright was the evening air, as if by some device pinkish hues worked to seep upward from the ground as a warm bog might do when met with a cold morning. When time startled back to work the world fell slow toward a purple hush.
For millennia at least three has been an auspicious number, and so it stands with a triumvirate symmetry that I walk away with no less than three photographs from my Saturday evening jaunt in Surf City. With the first and second already published, it is here I give you the third and perhaps final moment from an evening that will long rest in memory. As I was first learning my craft I was so consumed with photographing the scene that the moment itself was often lost on me. It was an honest greed that consumed me. A singular desire for one great shot, and often little else. Now with more seasoning to my tenure I am back to take on the moment as a means to its own end. The photographs cast as a supporting role to bolster the memory of the mind.
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