The lake at sunset...five photos, a poem, two quotes, and a few words.
“Sometimes I arrive just when God's ready to have someone click the shutter.”
~ Ansel Adams
I went to the lake last night, as I often do. I feel blessed in that this is a mere 10 minute bike ride from my front door. This is the place where--bordered by the US on one side and Canada on the other--Lake Erie and the Buffalo River converge and then empty into the Niagara River only to tumble over the Falls 20 miles down route. The sunset was--as you can see by these photos--breathtaking. It's interesting, I think, in that as I was sitting having a beer at an outdoor cafe, and while this sunset was happening and was so incredibly tranquil, there was commotion happening all around me.
But as the sun began to touch the horizon and the sky virtually exploded with color, people simply stopped to look at it in awe. One had to. And I did too. I never tire of it, and every time I go there the sunset is different. As the sun set and the light changed so did the sky. Seemingly every few minutes was a completely different view from the same location.
The last photo on the bottom is of the lighthouse that stands opposite where I sat. It was built in 1833 and is said to be the oldest standing architecture of our city (which was burned to the ground during the war of 1812). The above quote is one I've used before and is my favorite regarding photography. And the quote below really represents how I felt when I looked at these photos this morning. The poem below is one I was inspired to write last spring while visiting the same location. Click any photo for a larger view.
“Every sunset is different, because every day sun is different, clouds are different, space is different, reflections are different, mountains are different, fogs are different, and above all, we are different!”
~ Mehmet Murat ildan
The Lake at Sunset
I stood on the shore of the lake at sunset.
And beheld its beauty.
The sun set and the moon rose.
A cycle that the lake has known from the very beginning.
It was cold while the wind swept over me.
I had come to find solace; a reprieve from my daily life.
And I did.
I was on the farthest end of the lake in Buffalo.
Was this the same wind that also blew through Toledo, Cleveland, and Erie?
Seagulls seemingly hung in the air as they glided into it.
I tried to imagine this place before European explorers.
Proud Iroquoians plying the water in canoes.
Living near the lake's shore.
And what must the first Europeans have thought?
Surely they were in awe.
Just as I am still.
As the original natives were.
But did they feel this wind.
This same wind.
As it washed over me like a baptism.
Washing away my worries.