Blog Archives
…and then one day, no one returned
I’ve written about this before, about the mysterious things just get left behind when a business closes or moves away. This one looks like no one there knew it was the last time – the centerpieces moved off the tables for cleaning, the spray bottle down there on the bar, someone’s COVID mask left behind.
It feels like the last two people there said, “Yeah. That’s enough for today – we’ll come back on Saturday to finish up.” Only….
Lubbock County, Texas
photographed 5.16.2021
in the crashing chaos
“Good God, woman, GET INSIDE.” -what my friend Don told me he thought to himself when I sent him this photo.
This end-of-the-world-looking cloud was right above my house and the rotation (a sign that maybe there’s a tornado) was clearly apparent. I’ve lived in tornado-prone areas for almost my whole life and this…this was scary.
There wasn’t a tornado, though, and my neighborhood didn’t even get too much rain. And also, I did go inside after I made this photo.
The title is from – you may know what I am going to say here – a Bruce Cockburn song, “Boundless.”
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 5.17.2021
Hope, lost
I always think I’m through photographing these roadside memorials. But then I see one like this and I know I’m not really done.
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 5.16.2021
Rollers
Sometimes a photo is just a bunch of pleasing shapes that happened to coexist at the time a photographer happened by. That’s what happened here.
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 5.8.2021
Book Burning 1: Ansel Adams
There was a fire in downtown Lubbock last month; some apartments, a barbershop, and a used book store were destroyed. Naturally, my camera and I went out to look around; by the day I explored, the salvageable things (metal joists, mostly) had been pulled out to one side and everything else was pushed into a pile. And, shining like a beacon from the pile was Ansel Adams’s autobiography.
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 3.38.2021
One Day | One Image 