The last three nights I've been out in the golden hour shooting photos. I love doing that....chasing the light, praying it won't cease before I've satisfied my craving. I'm taking a manic amount of photos, and although I'm deleting more than half of them, the process is getting harder. I don't know if that means my photos are getting better, or if I've looked at so many that my brain is going numb. I'll ponder each side of that equation for awhile.
It's hot here in Maine; hot like it used to be when I lived in Florida. I can remember going out with my friends for food at 2 a.m. and it still being 85 degrees in the middle of the night, continual warmth radiating from cement and pavement. Many years have passed, but I don't think I'll ever forget that sensation. It was delightfully foreign for a girl from New England.
Last night I walked around Biddeford and Saco in the fading light, snapping pictures. When I finished I bought an ice cream cone as dusk blended into darkness. The air had cooled enough to fore go the A/C and instead open all the car windows and the sun roof. I turned the radio loud enough for this deaf girl to hear some of, and drove towards home.
I was just about to turn onto my street, when I felt an urge to run away; to find the carefree spirit of me in my early 20's with the whole world out there to grab hold of for the ride. I drove on in the balmy air, shirt rippling with the car's acceleration, the stickiness of the day finally easing. I wanted to touch the memory, find the simplicity of youth and to taste the experience. I don't know if I felt angry and frustrated or momentarily open and free. Maybe both....emotions are complex, metaphoric, and puzzling, at least to me.