I was woken up in the middle of the night by the most violent rainstorm of my life. I tried to take a picture and it was one of the many moments where my camera simply will not suffice. I realized in the most exciting. “I never want to forget this” moments of my life, I reach for my camera. What if I didn’t have one; what if nobody did?
Sporadic lightning throughout the evening warned of the oncoming storm. It arrived around 3 am, blowing the pens on my desk onto the floor to wake me up. A crack in the distance, a cut through the sky, landing like logs all around me… like being on the inside of an ancient tree being felled. The rain was a steady curtain of pearls that glittered under my flash, but refused to be captured. It was bested only by the wind, which whipped the droplets into a nearly perpendicular frenzy and shot mist through the balcony and into the bedroom. I think if I was mad, or at least madly in love, I might go outside and frolic; to test the velocity of the rain with my skin; to remind myself how it feels to be helplessly soaked.
I think before cameras, people would have been forced to become better writers and rememberers.