Snowlights

The camera lies. The mind plays tricks. Except for cropping, these images of the same snow covered tree along Mass Street are what the camera saw.



The color of the whole tree is more or less as I remember. Looking up from underneath mostly shows you where I was standing at the time.

In either case, the surprise and wonder that I felt when I happened upon this tree colored by the bright streetlight has mostly faded into memory.

Now and again I come onto a scene I have photographed before because I thought it was memorable. And then when I come by again, what I see is not what I thought I remembered. From past to present, certainly things feel differently to me. And where did that tree come from?

And sometimes I wonder this. When I have seen your face countless times and I have seen photographs of you again and again, who am I seeing? And who am I? There’s a kind of magic in the seeing and remembering the moments of our lives. Now you see it. Now you don’t.

The camera lies. The mind plays tricks. What you see is not what you get. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow will be another day. What will I see around the corner? Don’t blink, you might miss it. Watch the birdy. Say cheese.

All I can say is this: I never saw it coming. I never saw her coming. And I cannot remember now what I saw then.

If I keep my eyes open, what might I see?

A snow covered tree colored by a bright streetlight on Mass Street?

And might I see you?