Clouds weren’t part of the plan. I had left early, walking under a sky that looked more like fire than light. Yellow everywhere. On the street, on the cars, even on the leaves, like they had borrowed the sun for a while. I didn’t check the weather. I never do. I just take the photos when they ask to be taken. That one asked softly. A woman waiting at a stop, a tree reaching past the wires, the sky almost breaking behind her. It looked still. But I knew better. You learn not to trust stillness around here. It’s never empty. It holds a breath before the shift. And I’ve stopped trying to outrun it.
Parking lots feel lonelier in the rain. I was holding my glasses in front of the lens, not for effect, just trying to see clearly. Drops kept sliding down. Blue had taken over everything, even my skin. The air changed, the light sank. People rushed to close doors, cover heads, find shelter. I stood still for too long. The photo came out by accident, or maybe not. I never really know. What I do know is how blue can make noise without sound. It wasn’t cold, but I felt smaller. I guess some colors do that. One moment the heat clings to your body, and the next your breath fogs the lens. It doesn’t ask. It just turns.
Evening came without knocking. I wasn’t supposed to be walking anymore. But I followed the lamps. Yellow again, not the morning kind. This one felt borrowed, arranged, almost rehearsed. Someone thought of that glow before it happened. It didn’t stop the dark from coming, but it made the dark easier to be in. I didn’t take that picture for memory. I took it because I didn’t know how to leave. There were people crossing the street, a car with lights off, a rhythm I couldn’t interrupt. The shutter clicked anyway. A second later, the lamps flickered. No drama, just a quiet warning. That’s how the night arrives here. Not loud. Not soft either.
Focusing isn’t always about the lens. Sometimes it’s what happens when you stop explaining. I stopped giving names to what I was seeing. Just let the camera listen. Seven photos. That’s how many I have now. I don’t remember what I was thinking in each one. I just remember not wanting to leave them behind. There’s no symmetry between them, but they belong together. Like pieces of a day that didn’t ask for permission to shift. Like colors that passed through me before I even noticed. No captions. No conclusions. Just flashes of what felt true in that second.
Yellow. Blue. A little of both. They never stay long. But they say enough when they’re here. I won’t write what they meant. I don’t think I could. I’ll just say they happened, and I happened too. Venezuela does that. It leaves things hanging in the air, like cables, like clouds, like lights someone forgot to turn off. It rains without warning, it shines without promise. And sometimes, you get to keep it in a frame. Not for proof. Not for beauty. Just to remind yourself it was real. Just to remember you didn’t imagine it.
All photographs and content used in this post are my own. Therefore, they have been used under my permission and are my property.
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