It was late September when I first spotted The Lookout. Rebs and I were on a New England holiday, with several days in the Cape, on our way back from Acadia, so did all we could do to walk every easy trail the place had to offer. My back does not allow for more ambitious treks. This one was a breeze, dirt, thankfully, a loop that was under a mile and a vista that looked out over a marsh and beyond to the Atlantic. We put our cameras through their paces, planning, as usual, that what I missed she would catch and she expecting the same from me. It usually worked out. We got some nice shots of the marsh, ribbons of glassine water interrupted by the occasional landing bird, or dotted by bubbles from a fish. I spotted an empty nest on an eye-level branch along the path and managed a poor shot of it. The house stood out most particularly because the broad, if incomplete, cloud cover, while spreading light out like soft butter on toast, allowed a few errant beams to pass through. One struck the house, giving it a heavenly glow and making it appear that the building was casting a beacon and not receiving one. The soft moist earth colors of the landscape provided a high contrast to the blinding white of a moment. We both spotted the happy accident and swung our Canons to bear, but the illumination dimmed as quickly as it had emerged, and we were left with a patch of white, in a frame of gray sky edged in light blue and a moist tawny earth.