I'm walking up the road to my house after taking a few shots of a Seven Fields sunset.
How they'll turn out? I'm not sure. It was getting a little too dark, and I had to wait for a bunch of walkers to pass by my field of view. Probably not usable, but it was a well-thought attempt.
It's a nice night, and Hillvue Drive is quiet. The slight grade to my house has always been a good little sprinter after a long road ride. A faint smell of petroleum from my neighbor's freshly-asphalted driveway still lingers.
Maybe it's best the photos don't turn out. I'm only so good with Lightroom, and a Seven Fields sunset isn't the best to begin with. But, it is one I've known for eight years. Ryanne and I leave for Nova Scotia tomorrow after work, and a week after we return, we're closing on our new house.
I keep walking. A piddling limp remains in my left leg - a sure result of too much party at Single Speed USA. Reality sets in. These photos are no good. I format the SD card, without missing a hobbled step. I sling the camera around my back as the card writes to zeroes.
I moved into our townhouse about six months before we got married in 2006. The time really has gone by, and this place has definitely held its own place in my heart. But, things have changed, and we've changed, too. It's still a great, great neighborhood to be in, but I'll be carrying many great, great memories out of it.
Last night, Ryanne and I joined Ian and his lovely lady to see The Moth at the Byham in Pittsburgh. True stories told live. No notes. Just emotion. The theme for the evening was Don't Look Back.
I reach my little driveway, and I look back. My Fuji swings around, and I half-hold it up, hoping for a chance at one more shot. The sun's down, and I let go. The Japanese device caught by Wisconsin leather. I open my door, knowing I have an empty card ready to be filled when the sun comes up, somewhere else.
