This is a chapter from my seventh book called Bookeh - Through the lens of a Trinidadian photog
It is 123pm on the same Sunday as the last chapter. Again I am starting without a photo and a chapter title. The question that came to mind was who was the first fisherman or maybe it was a fisherwoman. I mean it is fisher and not fishim. Who built the first boat? I like that boat rhymes with float and sky rhymes with fly and land rhymes with hand. But we do not walk on hands though, but we used to. I think how the words sky, sea and lands can all be transformed into something to do with sight. Sky becomes skeye, sea becomes see and lands becomes lends. Eye, see and lens. Sight is the focus of photography. My friend Gemini tells me that photography is a visual language that captures and communicates moments and ideas. That is what I hope to do with my photography and storytelling.
The sky has gotten dark. It might rain. That could make an interesting photo. A photo of an angry sky or rather a sky that is about to cry. I made my way outside and made a few photos of the approaching gray sky coming from the east. As I made my way to the front of the house I noticed graysie. Graysie looks just like the gray sky and the tail was curved just like in the origin story of the question mark. Graysie is the name we gave the gray stray cat that visits our yard from time to time looking for a meal and sometimes a place to sleep, either on top of the old dryer or under the washing sink. I made a few photos of poor graysie and chose one for this chapter. I am back inside and I hear thunder and I can see the darkened sky through the bedroom window. Is it going to rain cats and dogs? I do not think graysie would be pleased with the idea of cats falling from the sky.
The rain has started. Let me go outside and check on graysie. Nowhere to be seen but I forgot about the clothes drying under the shed that I hurriedly picked up and got somewhat wet in the process. It was a wrong side rain that was blowing from the west and wetting inside the house to which I had to close the windows and front door. In between all the drama I made time to have lunch which was tuna fish sandwich. Maybe graysie came by for me to offer him some of the fish I caught in the previous chapter for my art installation. A crapaud has just barged through the front door looking for shelter from the rain I assume. Who says Sundays are boring was wrong. Sundays can be fundays once you start writing. The rain lulled but has started back strongly accompanied by lightning and thunder. Blessings from above and yonder.
*Maybe the first fisherman was a cat.
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