“And who shall say–whatever disenchantment follows–that we ever forget magic; or that we can ever betray, on this leaden earth, the apple-tree, the singing, and the gold?”
— Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel
One of my favorite teenage memories, and Lynne remembers it, too, comes from a summer day at dusk when a group of us piled into Frank M’s van. We had no plan and no destination. We rode around, and when the urge struck, we stopped and cimbed out of the van to lie on the lawns of strangers and stare at the darkening sky. To pluck crabapples and persimmons from trees and make faces as we ate them. To stargaze and talk desultorily of nothing much. To laugh and sing songs mostly out of tune.
To be.
Nobody yelled at us to get out of their yards. Nobody ran us off from anywhere we stopped. We even picked up another rider or two along the way. No one got hurt. No one got left. Nothing bad happened.
It was a night we probably would have called nothing special, but if it hadn’t been, it wouldn’t still live in my memory, nor would it be the kind of universal moment of pure magic memorialized by Thomas Wolfe.
I love how you transport us into your photos, and into those moments with you. Even make us feel like we’re sitting next to you in the back seat. Just another gift you give to the rest of us.
Thank you. Your kindness is like fuel to me. =)
It is perhaps a paradox that the most insignificant moments turn out to be the opposite. I use the term ‘simple pleasures’ on my own blog quite often and I mean it without irony. Simple pleasues are, indeed, often the most significant.
Truth!