Until this morning, I hadn't been out with the camera in a few days, except for a birthday party I was guilt-tripped into working. I swear the more photos I capture of people (besides children), the less I want to be around them in general. Most of them are uninteresting and either preen too much or are too self-conscious to pose properly. I make up for it by aiming for candid shots when they're unaware, but it all just leaves me feeling morose and wanting to flee the area at the first opportune moment.
And if I hear one more time, "Your camera takes such good pictures," I'm going to break it over that person's head as a warning to everyone present not to insult me like that again.
Well, I won't ever really do that, but the fantasy is very pleasing to think about.
The best cure I've found to cleanse the soul of human stains is to visit places where no one is likely to be and soak up the natural surroundings as greedily as a dying person would welcome a blood transfusion. As the treatment takes effect, slowly the senses awaken to a symphony of sounds from every direction as animals and insects vie to be heard. The rising sun is warm, yet the breeze cool and comforting. Water rushes past as the tide recedes, uncovering mud flats that send up the pungent odor and salty taste of marine life long decayed while holding the promise of future births and renewal. The eyes flutter open, finally, overwhelmed by a diversity of life so vibrant and profound that the heart fills with appreciation until it threatens to burst.
The blemish of recent human interaction is reduced from experience then, if only for a while. And the camera, nestled between slightly shaking hands, is prepared to record greater meaning of life than just ourselves...