hildreth

Boulder is quiet. Peaceful. Even among all the people passing through Pearl Street, there is hardly a sound. People speak softly to one another as they walk hand-in-hand, view street performers, and enjoy a break from rainy weather. Purple flowers poke up from the beds centering the sidewalks, and as I walk past them, their return remind me of my earliest days with photography. I traveled to Boulder at least once a week in search of flowers and architecture, too afraid to snap photos of any mall-goers or homeless people, though there were plenty of each. Some of the performers and homeless men still reside on the same corners as they did a few years ago. Some of them assure me nothing much has changed since my earliest days and in a way that is a comforting feeling.

I walked from one end of the mall to the other several times today. There was nothing out of the ordinary going on: the Jamaican man was performing his contortion routine, musicians were belting out familiar oldies while strumming acoustic guitars, homeless men and women were talking to one another, couples hand-in-hand spoke softly to one another as they window shopped, and I observed. My walk down Pearl today felt different. There was no eagerness to catch any particular photograph. I was not overwhelmed by all the photographic moments that occurred. I merely watched. Twin-boys eating ice cream out front of a gelato parlor, a pair of sisters in yellow dresses defying their parents calming methods as they scurried around the brick streets, and a homeless gentleman in a fishing hat too tired to stand. I happened to walk near him on my return trek from one end of the mall.

How are you doing? He asked.

Im fine. How is your day going? I responded, stopping near him, camera-in-hand.

Good. Good. Thank you, he said.

Can I take your portrait?

The man agreed and with a bit of body shifting under a myriad of coats and other clothing layers, he eventually lifted his chin. I snapped two photos. I had turned my camera on to manual focus earlier in the day and realized, in the pressure I felt to get his portrait and to leave him alone, I mis-focused in both photos. I knew this immediately, but thought to myself I better not bother him anymore.

Could I ask you for $3.00 for the picture?

I would love to, I reached into my pocket, already knowing I didnt have the cash. All I have is a credit card though.

Oh, thats okay, you have a nice day then.

I told him to do so as well, and I walked away a bit disappointed in myself. The sun was setting as I headed back to my truck, and on the way, I took in the quietness of the streets. There were people everywhere, but no one seemed to be saying anything. Once in a while I heard the playful scream of children, and as light rain drops pelted colorful leaves over red brick streets, it finally felt like life was ready to resume again, after a long winter.

I took brief shelter under the awning of the Book End cafes recently closed doors. In the distance, someone singing an Allman Brothers song one of the few recognizable sounds on the street all day. The rain cleared up quickly and I made it back to my truck. I set my gear down for a moment, and checked the time. Nearly 7:30 and the sun was still up. I glanced at the console in my truck, noticed at least a handful of silver coins, and realized I could make it back to the homeless man in time. I took about 4 dollars in change and headed back to him.

He was still in the same spot. Perched on a bench in front of the Boulder Courthouse, still sitting exactly as I left him. He saw me walking up to him out of the corner of his eye. I just held out the money.

Can I take 2 more photos, sir? I asked.