THE FLEETING BEAUTY

YOU STAND IN THE SILENCE OF THE STREET, WAITING FOR A MOMENT TO ARRIVE. AND THEN SHE APPEARS, GLIDING INTO VIEW, HER BICYCLE CUTTING THROUGH THE STILLNESS AS WRITTEN IN LIGHT AND SHADE. YOU WATCH AS SUNLIGHT DANCES ACROSS HER FRAME, HER SHADOW STRETCHING LONG AGAINST THE COBBLESTONES, AS IF TRYING TO HOLD HER BACK.

THERE’S A SOFTNESS TO HER MOVEMENT, A KIND OF GRACE THAT FEELS BORROWED FROM A DREAM. YOU KNOW THIS MOMENT IS ALREADY SLIPPING AWAY, EVEN AS YOU CAPTURE IT — A FLICKER OF TIME THAT WILL LINGER ONLY IN THE PHOTOGRAPH AND YOUR MEMORY.

THE WALLS OF THE OLD BUILDING LOOM BEHIND HER, SOLID AND INDIFFERENT, THEIR FACES WORN BY CENTURIES OF STORIES. BUT SHE DOESN’T NOTICE. SHE BELONGS TO SOMETHING ELSE, TO THE FLEETING, THE NOW, THE LIGHT THAT FADES FASTER THAN YOU CAN HOLD IT.

YOU PRESS THE SHUTTER, AND SHE IS YOURS FOR AN INSTANT. BUT AS SHE TURNS THE CORNER, YOU FEEL THE GRAVITY OF THE STILLNESS SHE LEAVES BEHIND. IT’S NOT HER YOU’VE CAPTURED, NOT ENTIRELY. IT’S THE ACHE OF WATCHING SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL VANISH, KNOWING YOU CAN NEVER FOLLOW.