Thought I'd join the crowd, and asked Claude to help write a toast to my S1R II:
I came upon a sensor, wide and bare,
Full-frame, with forty-four million points of light,
And where the smaller sensors lost their share
Of shadow, this one kept the whole of night.
My hands are not as steady as they were,
The path is rough, the light is going thin,
Yet something in the body seems to stir
And hold the frame as still as stone within.
Some eight stops of stillness, so they say,
Lie folded in the frame, a quiet art.
I shot at half a second, in the gray,
And found the birches sharp in every part.
And when the snow came drifting through the pines,
I turned the dial from stills to moving things:
Eight-K, they say, in clean and patient lines,
And open gate for all the frame can bring.
The brook ran slow beneath its skin of ice,
And I let roll the minutes, one by one,
Nor did I fear the heat, nor think it twice,
For it kept cool and worked till day was done.
Some prize the brand, and some will argue price,
And some the specs, and some the maker’s name.
But I have found the sensor, wide and nice,
Whose stillness and whose motion are the same.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, and wide,
And I have frames to fill before I sleep,
With light to catch and motion to abide,
And miles of road, and promises to keep.
I came upon a sensor, wide and bare,
Full-frame, with forty-four million points of light,
And where the smaller sensors lost their share
Of shadow, this one kept the whole of night.
My hands are not as steady as they were,
The path is rough, the light is going thin,
Yet something in the body seems to stir
And hold the frame as still as stone within.
Some eight stops of stillness, so they say,
Lie folded in the frame, a quiet art.
I shot at half a second, in the gray,
And found the birches sharp in every part.
And when the snow came drifting through the pines,
I turned the dial from stills to moving things:
Eight-K, they say, in clean and patient lines,
And open gate for all the frame can bring.
The brook ran slow beneath its skin of ice,
And I let roll the minutes, one by one,
Nor did I fear the heat, nor think it twice,
For it kept cool and worked till day was done.
Some prize the brand, and some will argue price,
And some the specs, and some the maker’s name.
But I have found the sensor, wide and nice,
Whose stillness and whose motion are the same.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, and wide,
And I have frames to fill before I sleep,
With light to catch and motion to abide,
And miles of road, and promises to keep.