David Sasaki

Sometimes I wonder how our ancestors envisioned their own lives before the invention of film. I know that, for me, reflection is a cinematic occurrence. Here I am, parked on the soft shoulder of Interstate 5, southbound, accompanied only by the ghostly screams of passing big-rigs to my left and an abandoned olive orchard to my right. That, and a ziplock bag of Hershey’s kisses sitting atop an unopened letter on the passenger seat. For the past 20 miles or so I’ve been at a steady 75, both hands loosely gripping the steering wheel. My car is anything but silent and yet all I consciously hear is silence as I gaze out at the passing landscape, the subsidized farms, the soft afternoon light.

Silence and the cinematic soundtrack to the moment: “Ballad for the Unborn” by the Esbjörn Svensson Trio.

Lining both sides of the freeway, miniature sunflowers dance free-spiritedly to the song. Or perhaps they are dancing to their own. And for the past 20 miles I’ve been incessantly reminded of the last scene of Adaptation - the time-lapse shot of the dancing flowers somewhere in crowded Los Angeles - and, not knowing what to feel myself, I’ve adopted the feelings that overtook me when that movie came to a close.

A tinge of sadness, a drop of regret, and an irrepressible surge of hope. But then, circling my car to squat down and photograph the swaying flowers, I realized it wasn’t a well-crafted Hollywood film that inspired these feelings. They are my own. From my life. And from those I’ve let into it. And for that I am grateful.

Download of the day: “Ballad for the Unborn” by the Esbjörn Svensson Trio (right click, save as)