December 2, 2021
12:30 AM
42°F, clear skies at 1:27 AM after persistent rain showers had abated, the smell of damp earth and decaying leaves redolent in the chill air, the urge to ramble strikes. I am out the door.
Down the porch steps to the road… Go left? Go right?
Resolved by some internal whimsical compass, no matter how many times I venture down a familiar path, it is never the same, the quality of light, the dome of the cosmos overhead, the time of night, the season. Familiar sites become mischievous changelings, surprise me, the nocturnal rambler. My mind wanders to the thought of a woman applying a foundation to highlight the subtle makeup she will apply before a night on the town with me, accessorizing with hues subtle but noticed by a rambler accustomed to her appearance and her ways.
A rambler's shoes and photographers eye - roof lines and architectural elements compete for attention with the patterns of a crosswalk, the sheen of rain reflected by streetlights in brilliant granular black and white. Overhead the aesthetic beauty of a huge electronic transformer stationed regally atop a telephone pole, its throne an elegant geometric design befitting a powerful deity.
Every ramble serves up a surprise and an image I could never anticipate... a walking jack-in-the-box ramble. I look with my eyes then through the lens in my camera. The ramble shifts from physical to aesthetic, from seeing to noticing. When I drive to do errands, my eyes are blinkered like a New York carriage horse seeing only what is straight ahead. Practical, safe, and life preserving.
Rambles? No blinkers. 360° beckon.
Every object has a personality that blossoms in the dark. Carefree on the open road, I feel the energy and joy of a Walt Whitman, seeing beauty in unexpected quarters. Having left my travails at the door, I engage myself with the joy of the open road. Expectations are not part of the process. I will see what I will see. It’s all already out there.
Seeing as a survival skill. Noticing adds aesthetic joy to my rambles.
Tonight, Christmas lights begin to adorn houses, black macadam pavement reflects street lights with granular precision, the chill air gives my ramble a seasonable envelope, crisp air amplifies the colors, architectural and arboreal, as I navigate the route of the ramble.The irony of familiar sites showing small eccentricities, some small detail I had not noticed before, a little prank on the rambler.
Everything is the same. Everything is different.
Paradoxical. True.
Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.
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