The world flies by in pictures.  The hours, days, months don’t really count.

 One minute, we’re blissfully unaware of all around us, taking selfie after misguided selfie on someone else’s phone…  The next, we’re face down, passed out, a pacifier sticking out the wrong end of us.  We look up to the sky.   We collapse on the floor.

We box ourselves in and set ourselves free.   


All of this happens every day.  All this evolution disguised as monotony.  

Some of us squat and squint and try to look at all of it up close, to gain some insight, to find some peace. 

 But the train keeps chugging down the tracks.

Pretty soon this…  …becomes this.  Baby sisters follow in your footsteps… …then make their own.

Time flies by in pictures.

We can’t always recall each snapshot.  But we remember the feeling.  The sense that either we were loved or we weren’t, we were listened to or we weren’t, we were seen or we weren’t.  I don’t know much.  But I know that my camera roll tells a story.  It’s a story of time spent and time passing.  Hours, days, months…

It’s a story of family.