Clock the leaves in the photograph, see how they slip in the swish of the valley wind. The scene feels plucked—just one frame of 24, 48, 72 over one, two, three seconds, maybe. She between the sprockets and I behind the lens are in media res. We are in the middle of things, here. We know what happened before and we know what’s happened since. But this frame is eternally happening, as long as it’s cared for and protected—the sun is always going down on the valley, this scarf swings softly back and forth as her gaze does, and our path is grown thick and surrounding.

Today I was reminded again of my friend Steve Lambke’s line: “Departure and reunion, until the difference has collapsed.”

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