I've been spending hours and hours going over photos I've taken this year. I've started getting pretty good about putting my digital photos from various events into books so that we have our digital equivalent of photo albums.
As I go through the photos I find pictures of the sky at dusk, flowers from our yard, a branch hanging low it is so loaded down with apricots. As I look at these, I can recall what I was trying to capture- feel a piece of that moment when the whole world seems revealed where beauty, love, adoration, connection are my true and only purpose. I look through a series of photos of Viola, blowing the seeds from a dandelion stem. I snapped dozens of photos of the girls and Dean being silly and laughing. There is even my attempt to get a shot of the birds nest with two eggs in it that was nestled high up in one of our plum trees.
It seems impossible to delete any of these photos- even the blurred and tilting ones taken by my burgeoning photo assistant, Avery. Photos are like threads- leading back to moments and emotions that will never come again, not in quite the same way. How does one cut those threads?
And yet, in some part of me I think that as beautiful as memories are, they are past. I cannot stay there and every moment I trade in looking back is one I've lost in feeling and being here now. Even now, dark and quiet, but if I listen closely over the clack of my keyboard I can hear the clock ticking, the smallest of sighs from one of the girls sleeping, a plane passing overhead, the night blanketing us all into subduction. Then in my mind,s eye, I fly up over the house, look down at our house, our block, our neighborhood, our city and realize I am awake in a sea of people, neighbors, friends, family and I am surrounded by dreams. My heart beats like a metrnome while Avery, in my bed, breathes a gentle melody in time. The clock keeps ticking. It is difficult to decide what to leave behind.