Sunday, June 13, 2010
When you love a place, you really want to tell people about it. (Except when you sort of don't.) But when I'm in Stonington, I think less about what I want to say to people, and more about the pictures I want to show them.
But a picture can't capture the way the air smells; it can't capture the fact that walking down the sidewalk is like inhaling a bouquet of roses.
A photograph can't depict the way the sea grafts itself onto life on land.
Or describe how it feels to look at history, but really, inadvertently, at yourself.
A point and shoot camera that fits in a pocket can't take in a view from a parking lot that somehow feels like an outpost at the edge of the world.
And you can't just snap, in an instant, the sense that a particular place is like an unintended and unexpected gift, casually left out for you to take.
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