Around eight o’clock last night I saw a rainbow. The sky was boiling with clouds, including those weird mammatus-type with their bulbous pendants, and bathed in an eerie red glow. Bright yellow crepuscular rays streamed from the setting sun to almost overhead. Lightning backlit banks of black thunderheads over the hills to the south of me.

And there was a rainbow. I could see the secondary bow as well, and though they both disappeared into the heavy cloud cover as they arced upwards, the opposite end of the primary bow was clear and bright.

I thought there would be more rain. It spit a little, just enough to leave some drops on the patio concrete. And I could see virga, rain falling high in the sky that never reached the ground.

I couldn’t have captured the scene with a camera. For one, I’ve no talent for such things. That isn’t to say some of the skilled photographers I know couldn’t have made some beautiful pictures out of that material! Second, the dynamic, evolving nature of the experience was the best part. I knew what I was watching was ephemeral and would soon be washed away by darkness. That urgency to see and feel what was happening in real time right in front of me got my mind’s eye going.

These days we are absolutely buried in images. We’ve made a pornographic fetish out of picture-taking. Ask Google for a sunset or a thundershower or a mountain scene and you will be overwhelmed by all the spectacular choices. Windows 11 will give you a new image every single day if you want. All of them are astounding, high-quality, artistic creations. It’s too much. It’s like eating chocolate at every meal. It ceases to be special and thus becomes a lot less enjoyable.

Most of life we see through our mind’s eye and the only recording device we have is our chaotic, imperfect brain.

That’s OK by me. ¡Viva la imperfección!