Years

The photo was from 1904 and everyone was wearing black. There were several horse carriages clopping along the familiar street where we had waited at traffic lights just yesterday. I let my skin feel the rain and my ears hear the street’s echoes.

They already had umbrellas and street lights. I recalled the story of how a small Finnish town had been the 5th in Europe to have electrical lights in 1882, thanks to a British industrialist pioneer. I don’t know why, but the umbrellas surprised me more. They looked exactly the same as today, but the people carrying them looked so different.

That building isn’t there anymore. I couldn’t tell which side of the park they were on, it could’ve been south or north.

The next photo was of a cute girl who had fallen asleep doing homework. She looked about six and the year was 1925. I did the math and yes, she could still be alive, a healthy centenarian with a lifetime of memories behind those eyes in that face that still held onto chubby baby cheeks.

Or maybe she is long gone. Whichever the case, that child only inhabited a short moment in time.

The next photo is of a strikingly beautiful young woman. I try to envision her as an old woman: how would those features change? That sharp nose would still be the same. Perhaps she kept the hair style of her youth, held onto it like it could stop the years.

Then I move on to a section of pictorialist portraits, where the editing process was intentional and visible. Erasing color, adding oil paint, they were editing photos into art already 100 years ago.

I’m drawn out of my reverie by The Block. The editor has decided my link must be underlined. I disagree and learn how to fix it in the source code editor.

The block editor is teaching me to code. I’m back in 2022.