One click of the shutter, and a Hemingway scene I had dreamed of for a decade came to life. This is the art of observing.
An hour earlier, I was deep in the delicate task of keeping my young and sun-weary children in check, while attempting to savor the best conch burger and rum punch I’d ever had. The screen door behind us opened and slammed shut. I turned to see a Bahamian man accompanying a couple of American fishermen and their wives across the porch to a table. The man didn’t sit long.
Our lunch concluded and duty called as we made the obligatory sightseeing tour through the Green Turtle Club for a pit stop on our way back out on our adventure. I was already camera-in-hand after being caught up in the beauty of the bathroom fixtures, when, in a search for my waiting family, I scurried past the open French doors of the legendary bar and glanced inside. There he was.
Flags hung heavy from the rafters, mingling with the history and hazy memories that float around the room. Below them, the captain from the porch had settled into the stillness of the afternoon glow, quietly waiting for lunch to end.
I raised my camera and snapped this one photo. I let my gaze linger, searing it all in before motherhood called me back. Now, I think of this moment often and wish I could have stayed — wished he could have joined us back on the water to fill our ears with the semi-true stories I know he could tell.
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