Trask Avenue

Some things aren’t appreciated until seen in a photograph. Like a lot of life they are part of the scenery, on the periphery as we focus on whatever happens to be dominating our thoughts. I’m sure we’d notice a double rainbow or a three-legged cow, even as we concentrated on other matters. But the simple things often slip by. Then they are photographed and suddenly become extraordinary. Like my supermarket’s egg section.

I pass the eggs all the time while whisking about grabbing this and that off the shelves, in a race to get what I came for, to get home, to finish the chore. Even when I buy eggs, by force of habit I go right to the corner of the section where they sell the cartons of eight, not taking the time to note anything else. I make my selection, place it in the basket, and zip off to the next aisle, to the next item on the list. Such concentration results in missed opportunities.

It’s not like I’m oblivious to everything. I notice what seems important at the time. Prices, sales, new flavors of ice cream. But what I never noticed, not once, was the sheer volume of food which is packed everywhere. Now I’m certain there are plenty of folks around the world who would notice this immediately. But as conditioned as I am, fortunate to always have food available at my fingertips, this unassailable fact never registered. Until tonight. Until the magic of photography slapped me in the face.

Details like this escape us every day. We rush about getting on with things and don’t always take a moment just to observe. Stop for a beat, take a breath and simply look. You may be surprised what you find.

(July 2009)