One of the things we love about a photograph is its power to resurrect a moment locked inside of ourselves for days, months, and even years. This bonding association can trigger a psychic rampage to the edge of desolation or the peak of pleasure.
This snapshot reveals jacaranda blossoms lying atop some pitted concrete. The picture either lives or dies as a composition of naturally fallen detritus. What the picture does not tell you is left for personal thoughts and possibly words.
Words are necessary to explain the nostalgia that permeates this personal view. The concrete pad is where my friend John used to park his truck when he came over to join us for a swim. The fallen blossoms remind me of my friend who had just passed away. Jacaranda John.