Film always gives me the feeling as though it is from another time. But discovering a roll of undeveloped film - quite literally from another time - makes that feeling even stronger. I had no idea what to expect when I picked up these prints - when or what the images could have been from. This week, in the full 90 degree heat of summer, with sand still on my toes from the beach, I stood in the parking lot of the photo lab and was suddenly transported to a simple afternoon in autumn last year. It was a solo date for my girl and I, while we waited for the boys in a class. We stopped at the market for fresh flowers for the dinner table, and bread and chocolate milk for our snack. Just the two of us, and feeling grateful for lots of time to spare, we walked and jumped in the crunchy leaves on the sidewalks. I remember moving so slowly with her that day, and the sounds of autumn were so strong - the wind and the leaves were everywhere. As we waited for the class to end, I sat on the old church steps, snacked and knit some rows on her sweater while she gathered her treasures of acorns, pinecones and dry and crusty brown leaves. It was one of those special late autumn days with a bit of unexpected warmth in the air - an afternoon where you couldn't help but stop and look around at all of it - knowing it was fleeting - and breathe it all in deeply.
Oh, film. Thank you.
