Most nights...

I sit in a semi-drunken haze.

Drowning the sorrows, numbing the pain. Knowing full well what the next morning will feel like.

Having watched my mother follow this same path.

It's like being on a runaway train.

Mom, I finally understand. I love you, and I get it. I know what you felt. I know why.

Still, I get up and give my all. I take my cameras out and capture the impossible.

There is clarity in this life. This existence.

I know what I am.

I accept it.

You can reach a point where all the things you once thought were important fade away.

When you have married, had a life, raised your children.

When that is all gone.

When it's just you and the sunrise.

And I will see as many as I can.

While I breathe.

With no concern for how many are left for me.

Just that every day.

I will get up.

And look to the lightening sky to the east.

And consider the possibilities.

I will load the batteries into my cameras.

And sling them around my neck.

To see what nature has to show me today.

Even if it is my last.

I would not miss it.

Not for anything.

I love you, mom.

And I miss you. Every day.

But I want you to know.

I understand.

Tomorrow morning, before almost anyone is awake. I will get up. Load the cameras into the truck. Look up at the stars and the black sky.

My heart quickens.

Anticipation grows.

What will I see today?

What wonders?

Will I get the shots I dream of?

I will sit in Gull Pond at the refuge before the sun breaches the horizon.

The birds will stir and start to wake.

The sky will brighten.

And I will stand there. The cold wind blowing.

And watch the sun peak over the marsh.

The start of a new day.

And I will let it.

Take my breath away.