You know the moment – that second of instant vivid remembrance.
The realization of a past action that is undeniably irreparable.
It dawns upon your waking memory as disbelief
that slowly dissolves into a backwash of recall.
It’s like time stands still as you retrace the err of your way.
There’s that little sick-in-the-pit-of-your-tummy feeling.
In the end the result is the same. What is done cannot be undone.

Such was the fate of my point-n-shoot Nikon.
When I went to reach for her on Saturday, she was not where she normally sits.
I traced my steps to her last known location –
the truck in which Handi-man and I had made a short,
afternoon trip to capture the changing landscape of a timber cutting operation.
Upon return home, I sat her on the bumper of the farm to market truck
and turned absent mindedly to the task of letting the dogs out
and the other myriad tasks of a hot, humid summer afternoon.
And in that fleeting moment the camera was forgotten.
Forgotten until that moment of realization
of a past action that is undeniably irreparable.  Yep.
She is now part of the debris along the roadside
somewhere between here and the next county over,
rendered there after the first bump over which Handi-man traveled the next day.

The mind. It truly is a terrible thing to waste.

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