People seem to be tilting their heads a little higher on the streets lately.
(No, not just because of the latest gushing story about Portland in the national press.)
Our trees — the moody ones that change their wardrobe with the seasons, not the stalwart evergreens — are baring themselves for winter, and Portlanders, often with cameras or camera phones in hand, are gathering evidence of autumn before it all falls away and leaves us with short days and drizzle.
This season brings all sorts of sensations: the first time in months when you feel cold even with two jackets on, the pumpkin lattes, the smell of roasting squash, the constant uncertainty over whether it is or isn’t actually raining, the seemingly endless variety of fresh apples, the piles of leaves that the kid in me wants to stomp through, and the intuition to look up a little more frequently than usual.
Life doesn’t stop, of course, and all the things that preoccupied us two weeks ago, and will preoccupy us two weeks from now, are still there, weighing on our minds enough to even our gaze, or turn it back down to the ground.
Whether absorbed in conversation, mentally re-prioritizing my reading list (again) or simply walking around mulling over nascent thoughts, whenever I see someone fussing with a camera, it acts as a silent, subtle alarm: something interesting must be happening here.
Hmm, a building — must be working for a real estate agent.
Or we see a toddler stumbling down the sidewalk towards the parent, who is documenting another step towards confidence.
Then there are those rare — and to me, beautiful — moments when a quick scan reveals no cause for photography at all. We can find no explanation for why someone has stopped to capture some part of this scene. And we are left to wonder: How often am I missing something among all that seems ordinary?
A camera is an attention-directing device as well as an image capture device. To point a camera is to convey to all those around us: I find this worth remembering.
When passing a woman carefully framing a shot causes us to pause, and wonder what she’s looking at, she has done us a great favor by making us more attentive to our surroundings.
Even just seeing a photo later, out of its original context, on Flickr or a postcard or an email, can have a similar effect. We think:
“I saw something like that last week, and I didn’t stop to notice the details. Maybe I should.”
And with that in mind, I’m going for another walk, before all the leaves are on the ground.