And of course I’d never forget

Looking for pictures I end up scrolling through my Lightroom catalog, or through folders of pictures I at some point thought I would use for something. This happens over and over.

As distinctly as I remember my teen as a baby, or at eight, and as much as my good memory can recall a weird level of detail about Strawberry Festival 2018, some days I see these photos and it hits me, all we have had together, me and my people. Gratitude, sweat, annoyance, how hot it was that day and there was no shade, the water smelled bad, and of course he had his shirt off.

I don’t take pictures so I can remember things. I take them because I love how things look when I see them. Or I love the people. Or I get paid to photograph (but even then, it’s no heartless endeavor).

Right now, I’m sitting on Michaels back lawn and the maples are shedding leaves and it sounds like someone walking. We’ve had over a week of extremely bad smoke from fires, and finally the air is clear. It’s not a normal day, it is a reprieve. Will I remember this, today? Maybe. Maybe it blends in with the other days instead. I can’t know. If I took a picture of it, would I remember better - I don’t think so. I don’t think there is a way to seal this away in my mind.

But, looking back at years of photos, things return. The places and people and places and days I have loved, dragonflies circling my head for no reason. And of course I’d never forget.