I came down the stairs and opened the building door. It's already November, but the familiar smell of wet yellow leaves on asphalt is still here, making the shreds of my childhood memories flash powerfully in my brain. Nothing in particular, just that – shreds, scraps. I want to be able to weave them back together, but my childhood eludes me, I don't remember much. I want to close my eyes and walk, walk, walk in this smell until it all comes back to me… but as usual, I'm already running late for some meeting, and instead of closing my eyes, I get my camera out of my bag and start snapping pictures, desperately trying to transfer this wet foliage aroma into a simple visual aid for my potential future emotional excavation. My mind rushes through the necessities: what will I need to initiate a trip down the memory lane? Aha, first – a picture of this wet-wet asphalt, and then snap - an all-yellow little briar shrub – snap – an almost naked giant poplar – snap – a red maple – snap – a still-greenish unknown fighter – snap…
- "Miss, are you taking photographs so that those trees get cut down?" That is an old lady, a neighbor from the next-door building.
- "No, no, no, I am just taking pictures because the trees are so beautiful, don't worry!"
- "Oh, that's too bad… I was hoping you were going to write to the City Hall about the problem – the trees are so tall and their endless branching out damages the roof…"
No comments:
Post a Comment