Week 8

I've never really believed that anyone ever 'aimlessly walks'. I've always thought that any kind of movement has had some kind of purpose; even if you're not sure where you're going. Maybe that's better; to walk without going somewhere. To seek without needing. You don't always have to be searching for something specific in this life; maybe you can just look.
This is the philosophy I use when I take a walk with my camera. I like to walk and see what I can see.
On this specific spring day, I'm taking a walk around downtown Bangor with my camera. Bangor Metro is holding a contest for a shot of a downtown building, so I decided to try my hand and getting a good picture to send in.
Today the sky is blue and scattered with perfectly puffy clouds, the sun is bright and the world seems alive.
My sunglasses shade my eyes from the strangers I pass. I always get curious glances while I take pictures of buildings and other things that catch my eye.
The wind breathes warmly today, and it causes my hair to dance around my face. I snap pictures while I walk, and hope to find that one shot that'll make my walk worthwhile.
As I'm taking a shot of the old Bagel Central building, I see a woman sitting on a park bench nearby. She is clearly homeless; all of her possessions overflowed a shopping cart, her hair was a mess atop her head, her clothes were dark and tattered.
I push my sunglasses up so I could get a good look at her.
Sunken-in eyes and sallow skin, I can't help but also find her beautiful. There is so much truth in sights like this one. Ones that you can't brush of. Ones that you can't forget.
I walk by her and smile warmly as she looks up at me from her seat. She doesn't return the greeting, and I continue walking.
Someday I'd like to take a picture of a sight like that; I'd like to have the courage to walk up to her and ask if I could take a portrait of her. I wouldn't want to offend her.
I made a mental note to someday grow that confidence, and moved on with my walk.
I continue on down a path near a stream. It felt good to get out and take a stroll. I stretched my legs and felt the sun on my skin. Times like this remind me that summer is near, and that's always an uplifting feeling.
The path goes through the forest and brings you to an old rusty walking bridge. Decorated with grafitti, the bridge is a sight for my eyes. Old and sitting alone across a small river, its an interesting little place to get good shots.
Painted in white along one of the railings of the bridge are the words:
 'The free things; water, air, love, fucking, thinking, this view, friendship, love'. 
After absorbing all the truth in those words, I look up to the view and realize how lovely it is. The trees are on either side of the river; the river is as blue as the sky. I smile and lift my camera to take a shot of it. I also take pictures of the vandilism, and I secretly admire their guts to deface public property.
I spend a lot of time looking downtown for interesting shots to take, so I've started to recognize certain grafitti. There are certain signatures, styles and symbols I see often enough to begin to recognize them.
I live a fairly quiet life, and I don't spend a lot of time doing things that could get me in trouble. But for maybe a month I'd like to live a life of wild abandon. I give a fuck about almost everything I do; how refreshing it would be to not give a fuck. Life can be exhausting when you worry about everything. Imagine if I could live life and not worry about everything like I do. Imagine how relaxed I'd be if I did exactly what I wanted all the time.
I look around for on-lookers and dig my keys out of my camera case. Quickly and very carefully, I carve 'HEB 2012' in the rusty bridge. I smile to myself and take a picture of it.
Maybe I don't have to act ridiculous to make my mark on something. And now I've modified this bridge for however long it stands.
Once I'm done on the bridge, I decide to walk up a hill towards the main road.
A little further up the hill, I see a group of thug-looking people who are directly ahead of me.
As a girl who grew up in rural Downeast Maine, I always get a little nervous when I encounter characters like these. I get nervous and hug my arms close to my chest; I cover my eyes with my sunglasses.
As they're walking by one of them looks at me, and I instantly get nervous. Suddenly he stops.
"Excuse me, miss," He says and I stop in my tracks.
I pause before I answer, "Yes?"
He smiles, "Be careful on your walk up the hill; it's very muddy and slippery, and my friend and I just fell."
I smile in return, realizing I had nothing to be afraid of. I thank them for their warning, and I sincerely appreciate their courtesy.
When I get to the top of the hill I look down at the bridge and think about how things look different from every perspective. I've always been fascinated by it. Sort of like how I see that bridge, or the homeless woman, or the thugs who were polite to me. Everything and everyone is different when looking at it from different angles. But sometimes it takes a little more then good eyesight too look closely enough at something and truly see it.