The sun sets slowly behind the clouds, sinking into a slow rest while bathing us with the orange ambience of grandness.
“They’re waiting for us,” said my friend as we both looked and admired the scenery.
“They can wait,” I replied softly. “This won’t.”
The clouds, magnified by the presence of the sun, puffed its underside in majesty, shadowy with its blue. The contrast between this and its brightly coloured top is striking.
“Take a picture of it,” I told my friend. She meekly resisted; something about how her cameraphone isn’t great. I didn’t say anything as she whipped it out anyway, knowing full well that she herself wants to capture the moment for posterity.
She aimed, squinted, clicked.
We crowd the screen.
The picture was rubbish. Its pixellated edges did nothing to accentuate the contrast, and if anything, it looked like a mess of a boiled egg.
The thought crossed my mind that maybe we can never capture the beauty of the scene. As it sinks ever further into the slow darkness, I can’t help but feel that its beauty lies in the fact that it cannot be seen, but felt. That it is not to be touched, or preserved, because it lies not with the sun, or the clouds, or anything else for that matter.
Maybe it lies with the emotions and feelings that are evoked within us.
That beauty is within us.
Either that, or her cameraphone really is crap.