We were walking through a pasture of wildflowers when we were frozen by a harsh, crashing, rumble. A huge sheet of snow and ice skidded off a mountain thousands of feet above us. Walker shouted to me, Al, get it! I was holding the tiny lens and yelled back, over the roar, Why don't you get it? (His lens was bigger.) He yelled back, I can't. I have the ultrawide! All this happened in about 2 seconds, and I lifted the camera and bam. Caughtcha! (It was finishing, but you can see the streak in the middle of the photo.)
That was written two months ago now. And then I wrote, I want to zap Switzerland into a little package, bury it under my sweaters, and steal it. I love, love, love it here. There's almost nothing I love better than the dark, rich burnt smell of the woods here.
There is always space for feeling the past underneath us. So, excuse me while I close my eyes and imagine the jackhammers are snow falling far, far away off a distant mountain.
And you? I'd love to know what place's memory fills you today.