“Significant? It depends on which end of the microscope or telescope you look through.
You can see the bigger picture with either one, even if one is in fact a smaller picture. Try Command Control Plus. Command Control Minus. Repeat. Again.”
18 May 2011, Wednesday.
There are thousands of acres of flowers grown in Colombia. Isabella works on one of the smaller, outdoor, rain-fed farms.
Her eye catches a bud mite scurrying for cover along a stem and she ends its escape between thumb and index.
The air is thick with the flowers’ scent, something often lost in the bigger greenhouses. The fuschia buds are still all closed. She looks up towards the sun and savors the warmth.
14 August 2011, Sunday.
In a banquet hall, near a sun filled window with boats visible in the distance, somewhere on the north side of Chicago, Archie stands next to the chair in which his wife Debbie sits, her white gown spread out regally on the floor. Bouquets of flowers surround the happy couple—a couple baskets of fuschias hanging behind them—as the photograph is snapped.
13 September 2011, Tuesday.
It will be lovely when he eventually sends the color photos—the two of them surrounded by all those beautiful flowers, including the fuscias she had sent. It was sweet for her nephew Archie to share this newspaper wedding announcement. They had moved west for her job; now almost a year ago. She had wanted to go but travelling was difficult at her age. She places the clipping in a box where she keeps photos.
MANHATTAN FLASHBACK (14 February 2010, Monday, almost 800 miles to the East)
Archie up against the fencing as close as he can to look down. The grid of streets is filled with tiny moving specks; people. From up here there is no way to pick her out, but he knows she will be here soon.
Delighted like schoolchildren when they stumbled across the idea of doing this little reenactment, this homage to romance. He paces back and forth excitedly.
Sarah knows she can’t see him up there, but visualizes his smiling face waiting for her on the Observation Deck. So close and yet so far away. If she were a monkey she’d climb up the side— just like a love story in the movies.
“He’s so close to heaven up there.” she thinks, her eye caught by the sunlight flaring off the antenna spire. And then she’s on the elevator flying up.
14 August 2011, Thursday.
“Every one of those is some immense fire, the light traveling an unfathomable distance.” she said looking up into the brilliant night sky.
“You are some strange mixture of existentialist and romantic, Isabella.” replies her friend Juan, “You see the enormous and the minuscule at the same time.”
14 August 2011, Sunday.
They get into the car as the rice rains down on the roof.
The car moves along Addison Avenue westward, stops at an intersection with Sheridan Road. Looking down at a map of this city—so much based on a grid—and diagonals are very visible exceptions. The car roof, still littered with rice, turns right onto Clark Street, like a character in a video game.
(The author drops the drone view down to street level—sees the happy couple glance out the window at Wrigley Field—then zooms back up.)
The car gets smaller and smaller as it makes its way northward to Rogers Park and their new apartment.
9 January 2022, Sunday.
While his father sorts a file of legal documents, Aaron goes through a box of photos, examining them under the magnifying glass that was in the desk drawer. He’s ten years old. “These flowers are made up of little dots”, he says. His father comes over and looks at the paper his son is examining under a lens — a newspaper clipping of his marriage announcement. I remember sending that to her from Chicago.
“Please pay attention. The camera and lens work together. They change the distance of the lens from the sensor or film in order to control where the captured light converges. When the light converges precisely at the plane of the film or sensor, the image is in focus. Buildings, flowers, weddings, a view from a helicopter, a bubbly specimen on a slide — whatever you have captured — it is always a good idea to flip it upside down just to see it differently, in a new light, so to speak.”
“And now try Command Control Zero.”
© AleXander Hirka 2018. All Rights Reserved.