I always wondered why the sky (a sunset) can never look good in pictures. One of my last nights, on my lovely balcony, overlooking the faraway Willamette that merges into the Great Colombia whom Lewis and Clark sailed down, toward the Pacific, well---- I have a sunset. I take a picture.


The picture is dull and emotionless. Why?

I think now, sitting here I understand. It's because when you really appreciate a sunset, you develop a relationship with each feathery cloud, with each heavy pregnancy of the thunderbolt too moody to entertain the gold, red and pink. And you watch them as if they are old friends, just above your head, and it really does seem as if gods reside just beyond their edges. Hiding from us. Pebbled paths, melancholy streaks of mortal pinks, and they all seem to fall toward a certain fragile center and a final  understanding.

But this can only be understood through one's own eyesight. Not a camera.




And that's why I so very much rebel, repel and disagree with our relationships with screens. We cannot see what is actually happening with them. Furthermore, they stunt our emotional understanding of what is going on around us.