7365. WALKING ANEW

WALKING ANEW

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.