Memorial Day. If you’ve been around for a while you know what I think. There is no “Happy” to Memorial Day. There are only thoughts of those who never made it home. Those who paid the ultimate price. For freedom. For your hot dog. For your hamburg.
Generally, I feel guilty.
Instead of a flag or cemetery picture I thought that I would post a picture of pure light, pure color. A picture once made in New Mexico.
It’s the food stands at one of the International Balloon Fiestas. In Albuquerque. New Mexico.
That’s not what this post is about. It’s about going deep inside. Finally. Ironically, on a day the we mourn our war dead. My war dead. Your’s too.
It started as a dream. A dream that won’t let go. A dream that’s come back to me four times on two different nights and mornings.
The dream that began in New York. I was returning from a trip with a bunch of other people. The vehicle was so filled up with stuff that I had to stand outside and hang on to he back end.
That was just as well. When we got into the city traffic was so backed up that I just jumped off and walked faster than the cars were going. I needed a way out. I came to a hole and I jumped into it.
No comes the wired part.
I started walking down, down, down. I walked past piles of junk. I walked past abandoned vehicles. I walked until I came to the bottom where everything was just a brownish-gray mud.
I made my way to the surface slowly. Very slowly. There were broken down and used up military vehicles. Some people were working on them. They ignored me. I watched them. The tanks and cannons weren’t blown up. They were used up. They no longer ran because they couldn’t be repaired.
I eventually came to the surface. I was covered in mud. I was gray. I was brown. I went to a locker and changed into newly washed clothes. They were old fashioned dungarees. I had to pass through a sort of check out where I was sent onto the street… in Los Angeles.
I started walking. I knew where I wanted to go. Home. Home was in Long Beach. I started walking in that direction. I passed through all sorts of neighborhoods, all of them run down and broken. The people looked mean but ignored me as I walked.
Eventually, I came to a river…
Making this picture was easy. Maybe, too easy.
Slow the shutter speed down. Set the aperture for F 5.6. Stand tall so that everything doesn’t move. Hit the button.
Keep things clean in post production and everything is golden.
What I can’t figure out is how my dream lead me to this picture. Or, was it the other way around?
I think the grays and browns lead me here. No matter. There is more of the dream to come. Maybe you’ll find out. I’m still not sure that I did.
Maybe it’s just my reaction to so much drab color. After all, this picture is the antithesis of that. It’s all color.
And, it’s simple. As simple as gray and brown, but the other way around.
There is one thing I sort of understand about my dream. The worn out tanks and cannons come from reality.
The Nazi Germans built a couple of huge tanks. The Tiger and the King Tiger. Allied armament couldn’t penetrate them yet they were defeated.
There were three reasons.
The US armed forces sent five smaller M4 Shermans to attack them. Four were blown up. The fifth got through and was close enough to destroy them.
The Tigers were gas guzzlers. Something like eight gallons to the mile is what it took to move them.
Worse. After about 10 miles they needed an overhaul. They broke down in the field of combat and needed to be repaired.
They were used up.
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