Shivery

The moon was fat and round, a searchlight riding high in the sky, too high to make its accustomed path across the strait; the water, instead, gleamed faintly shore to shore.

On my way home from an evening with friends, I stopped to get a better look. I got out and crunched across a lawn that's usually wet enough for my shoes to sink into the mud underneath, where now I could walk a foot above the tips of the grass blades. When my way was blocked by icy, snow-covered logs, I stopped and pulled the little camera out of the pocket where it was keeping warm.

I tried to focus on the moon. No good; I was shivering too much to keep it in the viewfinder. I leaned on one of the tall chainsaw carvings Campbell River residents leave dotted over the landscape, using it as a tripod of sorts. The moon still danced.

Aiming away from the moon itself, the viewfinder and screen were completely black. I hugged the carving and took photos, anyhow; Photoshop does wonders in finding light where none was visible.

Logs under snow, and the lights of a resort on Quadra Island. And moonlight.

Back at the car, with the heater going, I was still shivering. The steering wheel served as my tripod substitute this time, as I focused on the garish lights of the hotel across the highway.

The lights look better without the hotel. Photo as taken; no Photoshopping.

'nuff silliness. I'll be sensible tomorrow, once my brain thaws.