Photos. A camera always around my shoulder. Dangling there
waiting to sneak up and catch a moment. It could be anywhere. On a scenic hike.
On a scenic road stop. On an odd road stop. In the car. Just packing up at
home. Or waiting. Any moment in time held a visual to identify it. I had the
tool to grab them and keep them forever. A big jumbled collection of unsortable
images. In paper sleeves. In shoe boxes. In totes. In closets. In folders. On
hard drives. To revisit. To remember. To cry over. To laugh about.
Now. I see the beauty. I think. I blink. I look away. My
hands are empty. It’s gone.
I remember. I wonder. Who was that person with the camera in
her small hands? Why did she put it down? Nothing to see? Nothing worth holding
on to? To let go of the present?
Can I find it? Pick it up? Rediscover the world? Not feel
self conscious? Embarrassed.
Can this world belong to me again?
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