Shed of the Muses: A Painting by the Moon and the Clouds

I discovered this hut at the end of long, uphill climb on my mountain bike. 

More of a shed really, rather than a hut.  A roof of sulirap - coconut leaves handwoven in a criss-cross pattern atop four wooden stakes lashed with six pieces of bamboo that serve as handy sitters or makeshift bed for an after-lunch siesta. A farmer's hut, I assume though I never had the pleasure of meeting its owner. 

In the summer, it refreshed me with unending treats of fresh, cooling breezes on the bluffs above the valley. When the rains came, it gave a refuge in the middle of nowhere from the drenching torrents. It offered me not only a welcoming seat but a setting perfect for endless meditations on nothing and everything. A secret window, perhaps. 

Where there are no walls, we have endless windows and unlimited doors.

I became so attached to this delightful, spiritually uplifting cranny that I would often walk a little further away from the makeshift hut to appreciate its beauty from a distance, drinking all the details in. A few paces would bring me to an opening in the foliage that offered a view of the lush valleys below. To the north, a bird's eye view of the Boac poblacion with its fortress church lording over it atop a low hill. I grew up in this town and have come to love it through all these years.

Then one night, I suddenly felt a cautioning whisper that told me, reminded me that this place, this hut – like me, will not be here forever. Changes are bound to happen and they will.

The worry turned into restlessness, silly me. Yet the more I thought about forgetting the impatience that was gripping me, the idea reinforced itself further. And I began to have what I call my “patented gooseflesh” crawling on my arms. It was my inner self prodding me to act on this “stupid” notion with unspoken, right brain hemisphere phrases akin to “go ahead,” “give it a try,” “something good might come out of this, you fool.”  

When an idea possesses me, I am simply helpless. It's like a futile upstream swim; at best you remain stationary not gaining any distance but the moment you stop, the current simply carries you downstream. It was the kind of restlessness that will not accept status quo.

So I grabbed a jacket, shoved the camera into my riding knapsack, strapped my biking helmet, and got on my mountain bike. It was 10 pm yet I knew that if I choose not to go, I would have a restless night anyway, bothered and transfixed by the idea of capturing the image of a hut in the night time. With the full moon (no wonder, lunacy has taken over reason) and a pen size Maglite strapped to my biking helmet, I somehow manage to reach the hut.

Propped the bike upright with a couple of well placed branches (it has no regular bike stand to save on extra weight), rolled and secured my jacket on its seat, and mounted the camera with a cord atop the jacket. It would have to serve as my camera tripod (or rather a “bike pad”). Made at least a dozen exposures on full manual mode (long exposure time, full aperture opening, highest ISO) varying the settings minutely each time. I’ll worry about the reciprocity failure and other exposure brouhahas later. My concern at the moment was to get a respectable image whatever that means, without using the onboard flash. At this distance, it would be useless anyway. The full moon will have to be my light source. “Oh please, you helped me and my camera a couple of times before, help me now,” I whispered softly, pleadingly.

And the moon did, aided by scattered, wispy, moving clouds that dodged in its silvery blue flood light. I sat on the hut for a while to allow the adrenaline settle back a bit before pumping it back with the long downhill coast (“crawl” on two wheels is more appropriate) with no letup on the brakes levers. And I bid the hut a heartfelt goodnight, comforted by the thought that if no decent photos came out of the camera, at least I have encapsulated its fascinating images, bathe in the moonlight, in my mind’s eye.

When I finally uploaded my shots, I knew right away that it would take a lot of patience (and studies) to get an image going. I had to clean the unavoidable grains to come when the camera demands more light and the photographer don’t have it and the JPEG noise residues, of course. 

I can only pray I did justice to that cozy nook and its quaint kubo. Here’s how my feeble attempt turned out.

Admittedly, I also took some daytime shots but not one of them can beat the subtle low contrast shadows, the blue gray duotone overlay of the moonlight, and the tranquil mood the image imparts in me. The moonlight’s reflection on clouds peeking behind the leaves just above the roof makes for an interesting counterpoint to the dominant cerulean hue.

Now the hut is no longer there. At times, I still miss it.

And I know that looking at its image will never replace the quietness that cocooned me sitting alone in its shed.

Then again, I am glad I took that break, grab that window for a night time photo (I just clicked the shutter button, the moon and the clouds painted the image). Had I waited till later, the hut might have been gone before I had the chance to shoot it.

The hut called for me that night, I’m thankful I was crazy enough to have come.

(Transience: A Haiku)

Ripples on a stream
Wispy clouds on my coffee
Here earlier, Gone.

Postscript: My daughter Marinette, knowing how my mood, at times, swings from normalcy towards the crazy side told me this, “Pa, when you’re crazy and you know it, that’s ok. When you’re crazy enough yet you’re not aware of it, that alarming!