To Photograph Again

This is the house they built next to the neighborhood dock where I keep my kayak.  Kept.  It was stolen awhile back.  What amazes me about the house is the full grown palms.  What does someone pay for a full grown palm?

I've been carrying around a Leica or two or four wherever I go.  I just carry them, usually.  It is like an exercise.  Since Ili drives me around, sometimes I take pictures out the car window.  I try to find poetry in the flow of scenery as we pass, but what I end up with is mostly prose.  I figure, though, if I keep at it, something is bound to click.  I've decided that I love my Leicas.  They are the perfect camera for daily life.  The Sony A7 (any of the models) is a much better buy, but I don't know how to love them.  I like them, but I can't love them.  Every day, though, I carry a Leica. 

I'm still tired most of the time.  I have realized why, I think.  It takes me ten times the energy to do anything now.  By day's end, I am just worn out.  Hence, the lack of pictures.

And everything else.  Time, they say.  Yea, yea. 

What, once I'm back among the throng, will I photograph?  I keep looking at photo books and at life.  1963.  That was the year to be a photographer.  The fifties, of course, but something changed in 1963.

I would settle, however, to be able to photograph again in the '70s. 

I would settle now to be able to photograph again.