snapshots

With some extra time off at my disposal on a crisp fall day, I set off with my camera in hopes of capturing the bold hues of the season. As I attempted to take my first shot, my shutter wouldn’t fire, and I realized I’d left my memory card at home. “Crap,” I muttered to myself. What follows are my snapshots.

  • I pass a brown house with yellow trim. Its lawn is sprinkled with matching bright yellow leaves, and I wonder if people wait for fall to determine what color to paint their houses.
  • As I walk down the street, I hear people behind me, slowly gaining. They follow me closely enough that I can clearly hear their conversation. They are talking about an element of math theory as if it were a recipe for cookies. “…I really don’t see why you need a variable there when this quotient is…” A few more paces, and I realize the pair are a father and daughter.
  • A man, woman, and child are walking towards me, looking lost. The little girl stops me to ask for directions. She has trouble finding the words — English isn’t her first language — and her mother steps in to tell me they’re looking for the glass flowers. I’m happy to try to help (it’s one of my favorite exhibits, too), but directions from that spot are tricky, even for people who speak English fluently. What was I to tell them? “Go up two blocks and take a right, cross the street, go past the building that looks like humping pianos “(what the New Yorker once called the Harvard school of design), “and take a left, then a right?” I point the family in the right direction and tell them to ask someone further on where the natural history museum is.

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