A few years ago, when things were different, and people were free, a few of us would gather by the river, in the park, or some place else, and share our writing, images, ideas, and so on, and our wine and time would run out as we shared. I snapped this pic of a stranger, whose name I never learned, reading from his notebook and listening to thoughts from his peers. It was a night that died too soon, as they always did, but thanks to this single image, I can always bring it back and listen again.

All it takes is one frame and the night comes rushing back.