Unrecorded

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One great pleasure of life is a late-afternoon walk on a clear New England late December day. The highest branches of the bare trees glow orange-gold in the last half-hour of sun, and the sky turns an infinitely deep icicle-sharp shade of blue. Northern Cardinals flit about the lower branches, redder than red against the brown leaves and grey bark. The air rolls down your throat as refreshing as ice water. Walking in solitude becomes a choice of beauty.
And I recorded none of this.
I chose to leave my camera phone and digital camera at home.
After taking tens of thousands of pictures and digital film recordings, I have learned the virtues of leaving some experiences unrecorded or left to the imagination. Sometimes life is best if it is only described. Sometimes life is best lived if it is lived unrecorded.

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