Every now and then I scroll through the archives of my blog, and I happen upon a photograph that I love, but have absolutely no recollection of taking.
Like this one.
Or this one.
Or even this one.
It always makes me wonder what I'm missing when I don't have my camera with me. What have I forgotten? What mundane bits of beauty have I ignored? If, for example, I hadn't had my camera with me on my impromptu walk through the woods the other day, would I have ever remembered the cool vine growing up and through the park bench?
It's during these times, when I'm finding these images that are unfamiliar to me, that I'm particularly grateful for my camera. I have such a shallow memory, it seems, that I'm not sure that I'd remember much of the beauty that I see in my day-to-day life otherwise.
I wish I'd started shooting much earlier in life.
On the flip side, I know I'll be shooting for the rest of my life.
"Last night as I drove home, the sky turned from gray to pink and the fireflies came out. I zoomed along the dusky curves of the country roads, and watched with a knot in my throat as I saw them multiply, lighting and lighting, a low, hovering starry sky over the soybean fields. Prone to hyperbole my thought was this: how could anything be more beautiful?" (read more)
The author of the essay above, my friend Zan McQuade, left a link to another essay she wrote on a related topic -- Has the Job of Remembering Been Outsourced to the Internet? -- a fascinating read.