I saw my grandpa’s memorymaker sitting on the mantle above our fireplace just below many of the family pictures he had taken using it. I chuckled to myself, “This camera has certainly done a good job preserving all these windows to other times and places, people and scenery, jolly smiles and small accidents, but now even it has become a relic on the shelf, a memory among memories.”
I blinked, and for a split second I thought I caught a glimpse down some ancient hall of mirrors there. I couldn’t see very far toward the vanishing point – the blink of an eye is plenty of time to see a whole lot, but not long enough to hold on to much – however I had some strange intuition that there was another lens where all these repeating fractals converged.
Maybe if I could somehow find my way down this tunnel and finally peer behind that last glass representation of all these separate images, just maybe I might find my grandpa there, on the other side, framing us all in his viewer. I wonder if he looks as much like me as he does in all these old photographs?
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