Magical Morning
What is one to do on a holiday?
A day with nice weather in November.
Rent a car and go to to the coast? To the mountains?
What about closer home?
Go to a coffee-shop?
The one I pass by everyday on the way to work with a longing to relax and write.
Or hop on the bus to Council-Crest?
Instead I go for a walk in my neighbourhood.
One I have done countless times before.
It is the option to choose the other options. To ponder. To wonder.
I go out the door with two old friends: my trusted camera and a normal lens.
I want to capture the "FALL", want to capture the leaves on the ground.
Countless leaves which I see everyday- each one a magnificent work of art.
They are bright and bold; lemon-yellow and maroon and all shades of brown.
Which show that nothing is truly sustainable in the long run.
They are all dead and yet alive.
They will be born again next spring; in a green avatar.
But for now I must capture them before the wind or the leaf-blower.
Instead, I chance upon a wondrous pod.
Red gems embedded in a carved cone.
Instead, I see the arc in the Benson Bubbler.
In the Vista Bridge.
In the rims of a wheel.
Around the bend, up the switchback, I see a lone horse-chestnut leaf swirling in the wind.
I pray for the wind to calm down.
And wait.
When I press the shutter, I have also captured a bicyclist- framed between the evergreens.
It could have been me on the way to work.
With tense shoulders.
On a bicycle, on the train, on foot, on the bus.
In places with right angles.
Instead I see not one but two right angles.
A cone pointed to the sky on a slender swaying branch
Festooned with flavescent needles and ancient lichen for company.
I have a choice to take the switchback or hurry up the steps.
Instead I pause, and capture the steps.
What is one to do on a holiday?
A day with nice weather in November.
Rent a car and go to to the coast? To the mountains?
What about closer home?
Go to a coffee-shop?
The one I pass by everyday on the way to work with a longing to relax and write.
Or hop on the bus to Council-Crest?
Instead I go for a walk in my neighbourhood.
One I have done countless times before.
It is the option to choose the other options. To ponder. To wonder.
I go out the door with two old friends: my trusted camera and a normal lens.
I want to capture the "FALL", want to capture the leaves on the ground.
Countless leaves which I see everyday- each one a magnificent work of art.
They are bright and bold; lemon-yellow and maroon and all shades of brown.
Which show that nothing is truly sustainable in the long run.
They are all dead and yet alive.
They will be born again next spring; in a green avatar.
But for now I must capture them before the wind or the leaf-blower.
Instead, I chance upon a wondrous pod.
Red gems embedded in a carved cone.
Instead, I see the arc in the Benson Bubbler.
In the Vista Bridge.
In the rims of a wheel.
Around the bend, up the switchback, I see a lone horse-chestnut leaf swirling in the wind.
I pray for the wind to calm down.
And wait.
When I press the shutter, I have also captured a bicyclist- framed between the evergreens.
It could have been me on the way to work.
With tense shoulders.
On a bicycle, on the train, on foot, on the bus.
In places with right angles.
Instead I see not one but two right angles.
A cone pointed to the sky on a slender swaying branch
Festooned with flavescent needles and ancient lichen for company.
I have a choice to take the switchback or hurry up the steps.
Instead I pause, and capture the steps.
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