Forgotten images and the stories they tell

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The angle is different but I swear I was standing in nearly the same spot at some point.  Yosemite in Ansel white winter.  A relentless chill kept me on the boardwalk looking down upon the steady stream.  I was breathing it in as my breath pushed a hazy mist into the air.  So familiar… so familiar.

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Six years earlier, I hiked through a dry stone wash, thinking that a river probably finds its way along in cooler months.  Nothing remarkable to photograph here.  Wrong time of day, wrong time of year.  Just to jog my memory and perhaps create positioning shots for a series, I snapped a few… barely lifting the camera to my eye before pressing the shutter button.  Click.  Move along, nothing here.

Regrets.

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