I have mentioned many times that I am not a woman of images, but of words. In my real life, I am rarely standing in a moment in which I look back and wish I had taken a photo. Which is not to say that I do not take photos … it’s just that when I go back to look at them, the images are listless to me; the magic I remember dulled in flattened facsimile.
The recent result is that after a very long time and many random photos, my iPhone camera has been filled. Every time I think to take a photo, I get a little notice that the camera app is full, and that I need to download (upload? whatever) my photos off of the camera to something else before I can take new photos. Not so difficult a task, but on some level, I enjoy being freed of the camera’s lens and its obligations of capture. I have simply moved on as though I no longer have a camera, letting the moments of my life slip glossily through my fingers.
Kallan and I explore a riverfront park we have never visited before. The river is high, and we descend a large stone set of stairs that lead right into the water. Neither of us is dressed to get wet, and so we stand, staring out at the tumultuous river from the lowest dry step. Kallan leans forward to look upriver and beyond the curve of the high railed wall beside us; she notices there are benches in the water, lined up against the wall, along the beach that has been stolen by the tide.
She races back up the steps and climbs up and over the railing to descend the wall and hop across the encroaching river.
She sits …
surrounded by rushing water, an impossibly high wall behind her, totally dry and amazingly beautiful …
on a bench.
Standing here, looking back, armed with words and memory …
I wish I had that photo.