Making photographs

The Good Humor man, the girl with face paint, the man on his phone, two red balloons tied to a stroller. There they are, so real and somehow it hurts. So human and so fleeting.

As we bought an ice cream sandwich from the Good Humor truck, I asked the man in the charming, old-fashioned white uniform (notice his change belt), “How are you tonight?” “Well, a bit chilly,” he said. “I guess ice cream men don’t have long sleeved uniforms?” I replied. “No, no,” he said shaking his head and smiling.

As I photographed the lights, the rides, and the people, it’s just me grasping at the moment, trying to keep it, steal it. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of exhilaration, the sweet summer evening with the weight of cool, moist autumnal air.

I had dragged my family out of the house, desperate to get away from our untidy, dusty house, filled with receipts, lists, and fix it projects. Filled with foreboding autumnal dankness.

“Beren, wanna go see fireworks?”

“Yeah!” he answered. Jared strummed his guitar in the office, uncertain if he’d come along.

“Don’t you want to come? Come. It will be fun,” I told him.

And, there I was making photographs, just wanting the drama of the evening light, the activity, just wanting to, I dunno, live forever, I guess.