I’ve always been the kind of person who is journalistically inclined, but if there was ever any question about my calling, the victory parade put those to rest.

Something about standing on top of the bottom rungs of barriers, realizing that the fans around me calling out to players were getting smiles and waves in response, but that I was determined to get good shots of all the action so as to capture the joy of it and bring people back home into the action.


I’ve always been inclined to write about the happenings, but the photography has, over the course of maybe a year and a half, become a constant as well. I love snapping an image of something that strikes me and being able to share that with people.

But then there are things that a photograph won’t capture.

(Cue John Mayer’s “3×5”)

For instance, this afternoon. I left the gym and began my usual walk home. I could easily ave taken the T, but the walk isn’t particularly long and I like to think of it as a proper cool-down to my gym antics (which were woefully short today, as I really wasn’t feeling well). Yes, it was raining, but it was more of a drizzle than anything else by that point and I had my red umbrella open and above my head. If anything, it was pleasant to meander my way home through the Common and along Boylston, then stop into a Starbucks and laugh with the baristas about the latest Red Sox gossip.

There were two trees in particular that caught my eye somewhere in the vicinity of the Public Gardens – both slick with rain. The leaves were determined to hold their ground, bursts of orange and yellow against the shiny black branches that held them. Droplets of water were shining.

It wouldn’t translate into a proper photograph – I’ve tried to capture similar shots in the past and have never been satisfied with the result. I think that noting the beauty of the image required being there, hearing the gentle patter of raindrops onto the top of an umbrella, feeling a breeze still remarkably warm for November, and feeling as if I can stick with the course I’m trying to navigate these days (and with which I grow increasingly frustrated) if frail little autumn leaves can stick to a branch in the rain.