Highways and Byways: Days in the Sun

By Maik Strosahl

A couple of months ago, I read an article about an 8-year-exposure photograph that was published by the University of Hertfordshire Press Office.
    In 2012, a simple camera made from an aluminum beer can, duct tape, and light-sensitive photographic paper was attached, facing skyward, to the side of the University of Hertfordshire’s Bayfordbury Observatory. Fine arts student Regina Valkenborgh placed it there and then forgot about it. Eight years and one month later it was found, revealing an image tracing eight years’ worth of solar paths across the sky.
    While working with Bob Boldt on a project, I was looking for an email he had sent me and found his response to a poem I had written and, like Ms. Valkenborgh apparently, forgotten about.
    Here’s to forgotten cameras and forgotten poems and the joy they bring when they are found.

The 8-year-exposure photo by Regina Valkenborgh
that inspired my poem

Days in the Sun

While you were out
charting the night,
I came to a decision,
packed my bags,
left a gift for you to find
and remember
our days in the sun.

I thought of you
when morning broke
across the valley
and your eyes,
weary from chasing stars
across the darkened skies,
would grow heavy and yield,
missing the great fire of day,
desperate to catch your attention.

You came to mind
every noon,
when I knew you had tossed the bed,
reaching blindly for covers
you had already kicked off
and I no longer there
to pull them back,
tucking a blanket into your grasp.

And with the setting sun,
I knew you would rise,
waking with a dark brew,
a spark growing inside
that this would be the night,
this would be your moment
when you would find
what you have
searched your whole life for,
oblivious to anything—
or anyone—
that would distract.

The days traced my path
as I kept passing through,
missing you,
until the memories became echoes,
the moments became shadows
I could not quite see clear.
It was soon a couple of days
between thoughts,
weeks, then months, then....

You called this morning,
a distant memory.
You found my rudimentary camera,
counted the days
and recalled when we were good.
I laughed,
then smiled to myself sadly
at how long it took
to say good-bye.

Copyright © 2021 by Maik Strosahl Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there.