I didn't see much of it at the time I pedalled by. I didn't have enough time to see much of it. It was all too small, too fast, too big to take in with however many frames per second my impoverished eyesight limits my experience of the world to the first time through.
I mean the two girls making bubbles visible through an escaped floating planet of a bubble, its poles two soapy, iridescent continental caps—I saw all of it only later. Through my computer.
The scene unfolded in Hawrelak née Mayfair Park yesterday afternoon as I pedalled past two boys playing on the gravel path with a basketball, one trying a dribble between his legs while the other watched. I said hello, then headed for the footbridge, and that's when I saw the bubbles in the air. I had enough time to check that the Go Pro on the handlebars was still rolling, and then pedalled toward the biggest bubble. Go to the story. Go directly to the story.
I took aim, and then swerved back onto the trail so I wouldn't pop it. I was afraid I would pop it.
Then, I quickly forgot about the floating bubbles and the trouble I had gone to record one up close. When I got home, I reviewed the video frame by...
One frame later, the bubble isn't broken, but the image is:
The instinct was in the moment in the park on the gravel path, but the joy was at the keyboard as I discovered what my camera and riding style had combined to capture. Then the half-thoughts barnacled onto the image. Time doesn't pass as much as it... Girls grow up. Parks change their names. Some girls will, too. It's all so fragile. And so irreplaceable. Each instant a bubble. And that orange snow fence, a reminder of the passing seasons. Time doesn't pass as much as it pops.