Photography is memory. And no, I’m not talking hard-drive type memory, though that happens to be true as well, seeing I have gigabytes of the stuff, but I digress. I’m talking travel back in time and smell the salt air and feel the bonfire warmth on your exposed limbs and taste the melted chocolate marshmallow concoction type of memory. All that echoed laughter spilling out from your family and friends, the ability to gather in the way the entire sky looked as the popping sparks climbed into the darkening blue.
When I look at pictures I’ve taken, even ones like this with no direct link to my past memories, I can’t help but recall the times, still shivering from the Pacific, covered in my towel and treated to a hot-dog, an ice-chest chilled Coke, and a s’more. Moments of my life that endure, thankfully, as they’re what I am.
