A thin moon and a plane's long trail sharing the same sky.
One of them will still be there in a thousand years and the other was gone in minutes. I liked seeing them lined up like that, briefly, as if by arrangement. Then the trail feathered out.
Watching an instant print slowly arrive.
The little print came out of the camera still developing, and I sat in the car watching the greys arrive. There is something honest about a photo you cannot edit. I kept this one.
An ordinary street made briefly gold.
Nothing was happening here, which is exactly why I stopped. Golden hour turns the most familiar block into something worth a second look. This is the kind of quiet I grew up inside.
