I sat crouched on the side of a small country road near my home in Southern Ontario. The bottoms of my weathered jeans were dew-damp, and the bones which had faithfully carried me out of my youth sighed at the end of a long day. I’d been driving since dinner—spaghetti on the floor and kids unwinding—fighting the darkness as the sun set to the west, and the gusts of air from the occasional passing vehicle provided the only relief on a sticky August night. I was searching for a moment, a place to sit and observe. I knew the light was dying, and I would have to act soon—my thoughts had not yet slowed from the day and a sense of urgency loomed. The irregular drone of crickets provided the only song in my ear. It had been some time since I’d experienced quiet like this, and my heart welcomed it as its beat began to slow.

The yellow filament illuminating the interior of my Jeep was fading, and the faint glow cast through the passenger window was gone. I held my camera in both hands, caressing its controls and finding my way by touch, as a sightless man would with his keys or telephone. My fingers turned dials and adjusted levers, these hands knew the terrain—I’d been here before. This was another home. The sweetness of decaying straw adorned the next breath I took, and holding it in I set the camera into place. A tripod, my hands not ready for the task. Releasing the shutter, I sat and waited. Counted. Breathed.

It was a moment—thirty seconds to be precise—for me to revel in the world around me. My heart was heavy that day, weighed by the world around me. It was tired, weary, and in a few hidden places, starting to break. I saw the first stars pierce through the glowing sky as my eyes adjusted to the night, and watched the leaves on the trees shiver in the cooling air. For a few seconds, it seemed as if everything was held in place, posing—reanimated only by the timely click of the shutter.

I had driven aimlessly. I was in search of solitude and forgiveness. I had no destination in mind, and at each crossroads I turned away from the glowing pull of the city lights. I didn’t know what there was to find, only a faint sense that I would find it. Or rather, a hope. In that magical space between the day and the night, I had discovered a cathedral. A hidden place. Possibility exploded in the sky, like a million stars were born, or dying. You feel tiny in times like these, aware only of the expanse above. Beneath the heavens, one can only resign their concerns to a lesser place. The space above, infinite, eternal.

The graded sky and blurs of light, punctuated by specks of fire spilled like glass across the night’s expanse, frozen in time. This image, a remnant of the dark. That photograph, stolen without permission from the night. Given by the universe, gifted by the architect of its splendour. It became an artifact, a mere reminder of the gravel crunching underfoot and the grass that tickled my ankle. Of a quiet moment, of fears forgotten, of sins washed clean. The photo was mine, a secret I told myself. To peek at when I needed a prayer, a moment. A reminder.