With and Without My Camera

First Satsuma of the Season, 2010

Walking home today, a little lost in thought, nothing organized, not terribly focused on any one thing, I had a general feeling of happiness surrounding me, kind of like the cloud of dust and debris that floats around Pig-Pen in the Peanuts cartoons. The rain had stopped and bits of blue were starting to show through the clouds. It was nice to have dry pant legs. I really dislike wet pant legs, especially when they are my own.

This walk is a walk I take often. It is a walk I know well. Most of the trees I pass are green, yes, even in December. I feel lucky when I spot a few sidewalk squares covered with wet yellow leaves. It's been very wet lately.

Well, today when I was strolling along, I unexpectedly caught a glimpse of red. It slipped into my distant peripheral vision. I'd walked this way so many times, never noticing any red, but there it was. Just beyond a quiet white painted brick entry way, chipped, a little faded, nothing special, and a long concrete courtyard. The bricks, bushes, and green trees faded into the background when this tall stunning tree at the far end of the courtyard came into focus. It was absolutely covered in what seemed millions of small red leaves. It was grand. It commanded respect.

Then I realized I was not toting my camera. Maybe it was better this way. I simply stopped and stared, smiling. It wasn't a moment meant to be captured on film. It will remain wild in my memory and will stretch and slip this way and that each time I recall the moment.