Several weeks ago, I had a few moments to spare.  Not enough to do anything substantial, so I sat in front of the New York Public Library for a good ten minutes. I had my camera out but I didn’t take any pictures. I held a book in my hand but I didn’t read.

I sat in a sort-of daze and stared.

At some point, I looked down at the glass of the blank camera screen, which sat in my lap, unused, and saw this reflection.  

None of it made any sense. A camera lens smashed up against my canvas bag.  An image regardless.  A phone to act as camera.  An unread book sitting next to an extraordinary building of books.

This is simply being, I thought.  This is what it means (is meant) to be.


4 thoughts on “Being

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