Always different things

A vaguely depressing thing:
Enjoying the lovely brownness of your arms, then taking off your sunglasses and seeing what a horrible dirty white colour they are.

An uplifting thing:
Sunlight through the wings of a fluttering bird.

A cheering thing:
Two middle-aged men walking along with their arms around each other and laughing—not looking drunk, just happy.

An intriguing thing:
A man on the bus talking with someone over a radio that looked just like a swish mobile phone. I wonder if it was a radio dressed up as a phone to look cooler, or a phone with a built in radio—which would be kinda exciting, no? I always wanted a walkie talkie…

A good thing:
The clocks on summer time: warm, light evenings, and time to walk about the town in the light and appreciate things as I walk along.

A disgusting thing:
Lots of pieces of skin in buckets. Glistening in the sun.

A heartwrenching thing:
The tiny kittens I saw a few days ago—two Siamese, three black—still in the same cage in the same pet shop. Looking just the same—eyes as if it was a struggle to open them, moving in that unmistakable, uncertain baby way—only more bedraggled.
It’s weird, this being a grown up. That you could, just like that, do something drastic, foolish or bad for you, something with consequences, like buy kittens—and there would be no-one to stop you, no-one to tell you not to. In five minutes I could’ve been the owner of kittens (which I really, really want to be, one of each—except they seem too young to have been taken from their mother) and it would be my responsibility. It’s a really strange feeling, suddenly being aware that your hand is on the tiller, and it’s been there a long time without you really knowing it.

And so many more things, most of them photogenic. Now that I no longer have a highly-portable, discreet little camera, I see things I want to take pictures of everywhere I look. Never have I itched so much to take pictures, felt so visually inspired. Which would be fabulous, IF I had my bloody camera…