“With little more than a nod, we sprinted to gather our things and jumped into the car. The ride was uneventful – we’d done it numerous times before, the lake had become an escape of sorts.
The air was crisp, a steady breeze rustling the trees along the edge of the lake. We took a different path than usual, despite my protests. With sand in our shoes and little certainty of the sun escaping the grasp of the clouds, we each found a place to sit and flicked on our cameras. We hoped to capture an image to justify the trip.
And then it happened. As if responding to our thoughts, the sun slid out from behind the clouds and blanketed our world in a soft, golden light. We hopped to our feet and aimed our cameras towards the distance.
I think we both knew that no picture would fully capture the beauty of the sunset, but we tried anyways. The camera was an extension of our mind – a machine that produced a memory of sorts. After a few minutes and probably a hundred pictures between the two of us, we lowered our cameras and allowed our eyes to survey the world in front of us.
‘It’s like a painting, really,’ he said.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s incredible.’
We followed our footsteps back to the car. It was almost dark now. We hoped they hadn’t closed the gate to the park.”