Lunar Shadows
During halftime of Alabama’s homecoming slugfest with Arkansas—which they ended up winning by 3 but felt maddeningly closer for the second half—the sun shining through the blinds began to dim. Luna was dancing with Sol, slowly and precisely blocking its rays as it moved across the sky. I ran outside to see the crescents cast on the driveway by the live oaks.
Eclipse shadows, Polaroid SX-70 (October 14, 2023)
Light in August in the back of the house, Polaroid SX-70 (all photos 2023)
A few weeks ago one of the three massive red oaks in the back yard tilted and fell. After it was sawn in half, I counted the rings: at least 70, maybe all the way up to a hundred. It was easy to count at the beginning, because the tree grew so fast, and around 20 years old the rings were even a pinky’s-width apart.
The smell of the wood when cut was strange and fresh, not like a 2x4 from the store, but musky and ancient, the bark stumbled with a dark green moss that was crisp to the touch.
Outside Chattanooga, Tennessee, Polaroid SX-70
I was on a mountain road hugging the Tennessee River on the way to Nickajack Lake. The kudzu had gone hog wild in the summer, crawling up the sides of a valley and up and over anything made by people. I always find this very beautiful.
French Quarter store window, early morning in July, Polaroid SX-70
Hollywood, Alabama, Polaroid SX-70
Jackson Square, New Orleans, Louisiana, Polaroid SX-70
Yesterday afternoon, Vidalia, Louisiana, Polaroid 600
I had a late lunch in Natchez at the Malt Shop after taking in the classic car contest in Meadville. A grilled cheese wrapped tightly in waxed paper and cut into triangles, with a size of curly fries dusted with Cajun seasoning. I wandered across the River to see if there was anything to lay my eyes on in Ferriday. There were a lot of WE BUY PECANS signs but I didn’t feel like that.
There was a broken-down ‘72 El Camino in a car lot, all four tires flat, a distributor cap on the bench seat behind dusty glass, the white paint gone matte. It sat next to a faded-teal Camaro from sometime in the late seventies—I can never tell them apart, year-wise. I took a chance and got out a napkin and began to scrawl I am interested in the Camino and even the Camaro, let me know if they are for sale, then slid it behind the battered rubber of the El’s windshield wiper.
While I was writing I heard yelling and across the street a woman wearing not enough clothes was staggering by an Auto Zone while two large black dogs followed her. At first I worried she was barefoot but then I could tell she had on flip-flops. After I wrote my phone number down I looked up and she was at a house by the store, hugging and talking to people in the yard. I got in my car and drove away.
“LUNAR SHADOWS” is a chapter of GORJUS, a dispatch devoted to art and life in the South, held fast with instant film.
If you liked what you saw and read, if you maybe felt a twang in your belly while you looked it over, then this is for you, and I reckon we would be friends. Consider sending this letter to a pal who is like us. I’m gorjusjxn on Instagram, and you can see an archive of Polaroids at McCartyPolaroids.