Okay, okay...I admit to getting carried away with the title of this post, but it was really only to dampen my disappointment in my photographic efforts these days. Sometimes, a photographer finds himself immersed in all the beauty and synergy of being in and of the moment and his work reflects that perfectly, as though each photograph were a complete and inviting window into a land of make-believe or better-than-reality. Yesterday, I practically stumbled through Bridgetown with my camera, missing moments that would make our little paradise shine for the world to see. Instead, I grappled with moment and camera and habit, failing to find and capture sweetness, the telling angles and favourable light. I surrendered very quickly to this new familiar"wall" (laziness), deciding that if, in the telling of the tale, I was revealing my failings as artist, then I would still invite the world to see of what sweetness and grit Paradise is made. It is that unmistakable nectar of the imperfect present, imbued with the romantic tracing of History, laced with the hopes of futures yet untold.