Thursday, October 29, 2015


I am walking anew with a camera strap over my shoulder - 
carrying this heave, this weight, this watcher. All eyes, I
scout and scan the deceiving horizon, perhaps hiding from
me something I would have missed - had I not been so alert.
I am hunched ever so slightly. The weight of goodness
covers me like a blanket; the slow pull of such a lens,the
freeze-frame heaviness of the camera's own body. It does
not swing loosely, as I must clutch it carried tightly to my
chest. I am in fear, perhaps, that it may fall, or snag, or
tumble. 'Round my neck, does the broad strap chafe and
annoy? Not for one second.
I have turned the corner now - for that distant rooming
house seems to have caught my eye. Its very old windows
and wood are sagging there with age, and that faded old
parchment of paint and glass, that patina of neglect and
decay, says something to me so right. It mus be captured
now, in this light. I step but back a foot or two to better
frame the sight. This long lens will array the arrangement
nicely through these eyes we share - mine and the camera's.
The noise is silently waiting for too,  for me - as I cannot
capture in light the background sound of the scene. The
very old fire of time and place are singeing me with heat.
I acknowledge where I am by simply snapping the shot.
I am so happy to be walking anew.

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