one last gorgeous summer morning?

8.40 am on September 15 2011. Point the lens at the sun and discover a composition with a slippery silvery feel.

Maybe learn how to hold the camera straight next time!  Turn a few degrees to the south and all looks normal again . .

. . . but what are my eyes really seeing?

They say there’s a high windless world and strange,
Out of the wash of days and temporal tide,
Where Faith and Good, Wisdom and Truth abide,
`Aeterna corpora’, subject to no change.
There the sure suns of these pale shadows move;
There stand the immortal ensigns of our war;
Our melting flesh fixed Beauty there, a star,
And perishing hearts, imperishable Love. . . .

Dear, we know only that we sigh, kiss, smile;
Each kiss lasts but the kissing; and grief goes over;
Love has no habitation but the heart.
Poor straws! on the dark flood we catch awhile,
Cling, and are borne into the night apart.
The laugh dies with the lips, `Love’ with the lover.   Rupert Brooke   Mutability