I missed it.

Down at the church tonight I heard the hippies screaming.
Oh, I thought, those hippies will holler at just about anything. Actually, they usually keep to themselves, except for their overflowing pumpkin stand and yard full of chickens. So what's all the hoopla?
Upon further investigation, I discovered that they were admiring what I can only describe as the most unbelievably beautiful rainbow I have ever laid eyes on.
I felt like I could reach out my hand and touch it. Standing on the hill of the church, the rainbow looked to start on the town green, arch over the picturesque Vermont bridge, the quintessential red barn and land somewhere on Bolton mountain which was ablaze with foliage. I wanted to holler with them.
I admired it for a minute or so and then I thought, I must go get my camera.
No, I'll ruin in.
Yes, you'll capture it forever.
No, it will be too long.
Yes, you will never remember how lovely this is.
No.
Yes.
So one more blink of the eyes to lock into memory, just in case, and off we ran to the house.
Getting a funny look from some young father, carrying his baby on his back, who did not appreciate me telling him where he should be standing for the best view, down the street to the house, wet shoes on the floor, grab camera, run back to see...
I missed it.
The rainbow was there in name only. Its beauty, I found out, was fleeting. And I spent the best part of the rainbow running away from it to get something to help me remember it.
I missed it.

I wonder why my memory of things is not enough. Why I need shiny or digital proof to know that something existed at all. That I need a picture of something to see how beautiful it is. In running off to capture these moments, I'll miss them.
Lesson learned, from the hippies.
If you want to remember something, hoop and holler at it. And then it will be, like, remember that awesome rainbow that we screamed through the town about? Instead of, remember that amazing rainbow that I went inside for?