“What’s the most you’d pay for a ticket to visit space?” you ask.
“About a buck-thirty, maybe a buck-seventy-four … but no more,” I say. No need to buy a ticket; I visit space every day, wherever I am. I like my space. I like some public spaces. And I LOVE fresh air space, especially that of the mountains where there are chill streams flowing with power and thunder or trickling and gurgling among pebbles and boulders.
Another space I enjoy as often as possible is the space where my bicycle takes me as I stroke the pedals with a firm, circular cadence. That space includes the whistling of wind in my ears, the rush of wind through my helmet and the rush of blood and oxygen through my brain, my muscles, heart and lungs singing with elation even as they sometimes cry out in momentary pain on a challenging climb.
Or there are the big spaces and tee-ninecy spaces where my camera lens takes me. I sometimes have to squeeze and squinch to get in there, or hang over a barrier, or climb up onto a precarious ledge, or backpack for miles to camp and wait for just the right light conditions. But once I’ve ‘clumb’ up there and snagged the shot — the space, that is — on my SD card for transport to my computer and the world, I have no need to even think about outer space. That’s for another photographer — and more power to her/him.
My own space is fine … terra firma. Love it. Outer space is intriguing, especially from the standpoint of stars, novas, supernovas, and all the other systems of planets, etc. I enjoy photos taken in outer space, photos from the Hubbell telescope and other traveling tools of science and exploration.
But my heart is in my own space, and that tiny bit of space has more miracles of adventure, beauty, enjoyment and love than I can exhaust in this lifetime.
Carpe diem. Vita brevis!
© April 24, 2012, by Michael E. Stubblefield. All rights to my original work are reserved.