scenes from a moving window
Today I cleaned our bookshelves and unearthed a drive with photos from our honeymoon, a backpacking trip we took seven years ago. Walking through markets, I felt shy about taking pictures. Most photos were shot from the hip. I wasn’t trying to be sneaky, I just couldn’t bring myself to hold the camera up to my eye, even though it didn’t ease the feeling that I was stealing. Usually the bus or train or truck windows wouldn’t open very far, so I’d hold my arm out and hope I captured something good. That strikes me as a metaphor for writing in disconnected blocks of time. Each time I sit at the computer I’m hoping to pin down maybe one good idea that I can come back to.
I like the way looking through these pictures from India reminds me of how it felt to be traveling there, trying to take in all the life going on around us