(please pardon the Duran Duran reference...)

Yesterday evening, armed with tripod and best camera and lens and plenty of hope and expectations, I went down to the rocky point on the lake and waited for the moon to rise. 

I arrived about half an hour early, just as the sun was setting, casting a beautiful shimmer onto the lake. Dusk was falling rapidly, and the light was low, so while I awaited the main show, I passed the time ''playing''. I set to work with the camera on the tripod, taking long exposures of the beautiful, quiet lake and the soft-coloured sky up above it.

I even played ''ghost'', walking into the shot during a 10-second exposure, and registering an ephemeral version of myself, standing on the rocks, enjoying the show.

Even as the last rays of the sunset died out, it was this west side of the lake, opposite the eastern horizon where the moon would rise, that captured and kept my attention. I watched as the sky and the water took on a deep, vibrant indigo colour. A few tiny lights came on in cottages downshore, and a couple of the brightest stars pricked the sky and reflected in the lake.

The moonrise, as it turned out, was anticlimactic. Not because the supermoon was disappointing in size, nor obscured by clouds. It was beautiful to watch it soar above the treetops. But in terms of photography, it rose above the sole unpretty feature of the landscape, a big boat storage facility and marina, brightly lit both inside and out. 

I realized immediately that I'd already bagged the pictures that were meant to happen, even though they had come from a completely opposite and unintended orientation.

I also thought that this very realization was a good metaphor for this past couple of weeks - the notions that disappointments can happen, but can also be reframed. Perspectives can change. Beauty and goodness still exist, if you learn how to look rather than just see.