Sometimes, it’s the little things that grab at you and make you haul out your camera even though you might feel a little silly at the time. Like the rock-propped washroom sign that blends with the graffiti in a picturesque artist’s town along the Danube.
Or the tiny sign, perhaps 25 cm x 18 cm embedded in the old wall behind me as I took the WC picture and only noticed as we passed that way a second time. Small, unobtrusive, enchanting.
We are packed and fly tomorrow (tomorrow! the time, it flies). I’m journaling random lists of little things, the tiny pin-points of texture, taste, and experience that build up to make the whole. I don’t want to lose them, although you can never capture all of them. I feel driven to snatch at those thoughts that jump out at me as my mind inevitably reviews the months we’ve been here as we sort through our things. This pair of shoes that ran with me so many places; this Dutch receipt for groceries; this metal sunburst bought at the Handwerkermarkt at the Saubrennerkirmes; this stack of postcards meant to remind us of the beautiful things we’ve seen; this subway ticket; this journal of drawings; this map of bike routes.
Little things that build up the whole. Like the growing children before me, I want to gather them up, pin them down, be sure I cannot forget all the uncountable tiny moments that make up the real things of life.