Oddments

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Connections: January 3.18

Yesterday I wrote about the Nothings. Old year, new year. What are the lessons? Old camera, new camera. Where are the images? Nothing heard, nothing seen.

Is there a connection? Yes.

I have found that the photograph is what speaks to me. Unchanging, it stares back at me as I stare at it. It’s different from the real thing, which breathes and changes before my eyes and ears. Whatever reality is trying to tell me, its voice is in the photograph. The arrest of time creates the pause in being that allows listening.

Does any of that make sense, dear reader?

I am missing that connection between the photograph and the words. Feeble as they may be, my words often tumble out of the photo rather than my brain. I know I’ve heard something. But now, with no working camera, I am in a mute world because I can’t photograph anything. A few years ago, before my writing mate Tamara taught me about photography and writing, I wouldn’t have understood this connection. But now I depend on it. I am floundering without it.

The icy white beauty outside my window blankets the little world I live in, and I can’t hear it.

 

 

Connections

 

 

 

 


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Connections: January 2.18

On New Year’s Eve I stood in awe at my back door. The last of 2017 blazed white and stark: sun on snow. Blinding and beautiful. Demanding. Not to be ignored.

“Do you have a lesson for me, 2017?” I asked.

I listened. Nothing. But in the listening, ironically, I saw. The air danced with tiny prisms, minute shards of ice twinkling. Was 2017 winking at me?

Maybe the lessons of 2017 don’t come until 2018.  Maybe never.

But still the imperious, taunting beauty. Isn’t it trying to say something?

I got a camera for Christmas. I was so excited! But the memory card got nothing. I tried it back in my old camera. Still nothing. “Why are there no pictures?” I asked my cameras, old and new. They, like the old year, answered nothing.

That’s a lot of Nothing with which to end a year. Or with which to begin a year.

But the beauty is constant. Radiant and sparkling. Cold and soulless. I cannot show you, dear reader, and I cannot seem to hear what it is saying. It has sealed the old year and encases the new, tight-lipped. I meander from door to window, wishing I could take a picture. Wishing I were 6 so I’d have the problem-solving skills I need for this digital world. But I’m not and I don’t.

So for now some good coffee, a comfy robe, a blog post. A thank-you to all who have left a friendly note here. A determined turning-to, armed with chocolate, so to smite the Nothings.

 

Connections