I set up my tripod under the Arch beside the Mississippi, letting whatever emanates from the giant steel wicket penetrate my brain and camera. 5:11 PM, 66 degrees, the tables said. The day had turned from clear to hazy and, as the sky darkened, I could not tell how much cloud touched the eastern horizon.
Time passed and I was impatient. Finally, a dirty yellow light rose over Eads Bridge. The full moon was indistinct, wrapped in haze. This was the best I could do. A few minutes later it was completely covered in cloud.
Before I left I turned my lens across the river. Lots of gambling going on in and around this town.
The clouds pulled back as I got home to Webster Groves, more about which tomorrow.