Analog photography is a slow and mindful process, each step a deliberate choice that begins with the selection of the film. Each time I choose film starts with me standing before the open door of my cold and bright refrigerator, reaching for the 120 film rolls that I will use in the vintage Rolleiflex camera that I love so dearly. It is a work of art, the shiny silver lenses of the twin reflex, the polished hand crank, and the periscope-like pop-up top known as the sports finder. These cameras were first made in 1927, the nascency of mine undetermined but it is unquestionably imbued with the spirits of the light catchers that came before me. I am merely the shepherd pointing it in the direction of early morning horizontal light, or late afternoon shadows, intervals of movement and stillness interspersed with profoundly deep breaths, focus, concentration, alignment, and balance before the shutter is released. Film is mercurial, the alchemy of emulsion and light that deliver wondrous images. Today's feature is a selection of happenstance (the palm trees at the end of a roll) to the glorious broken light of a tree at dawn. In each is contained a moment, a remembrance, of light casting across my frame.