Dead animals are attractive to me. You can stop reading my blogs all together if you’d like. I understand. But they do. Like a moth to a flame. I don’t touch them or feel any need to interact with them at all. I simply like looking at them. And photographing them.
I remember I walked past this possum every day on my way to work last summer for three or four weeks, every day wanting to stop and take a photo of it but never having the courage to do so in such a public setting.
This morning I saw this bird, so fragile and small, outside of the workout room in my friend’s apartment building. She was the only other person with me so I pulled out my phone and began taking pictures. She laughed at me and called me weird, naturally. And I remember seeing a girl walking past down below staring at me in a photo, perhaps she thought I was taking photos of her. I deleted that photo. She bothered me.
I think if it weren’t so strange I’d like to make a book, a collection of dead animal photos. Morbid, I know. But I cannot help it! Something tells me Jered wouldn’t let me put it on the coffee table when we have guests over…maybe when I’m old and completely crazy.