Fence Post and Passerby | Mark Lindsay

I stood at a fence post. On a path near my home. The morning light was like a flood lamp in my studio. At the end of a rare April heat wave, I could feel the radiance on my back and neck. The path is the remnants of an old railroad spur that once connected the villages of Marin County. Now it might connect the morning walkers if we'd put down our cell phones and iPods and say hello to one another. But, no one ever looks at anyone else. In this instance, most people stare down as they pass, pretending not to see the guy with the camera who is photographing fence posts. We are all 21st-Century walking bubbles of self-contained entertainment.

I stood at the post to see what it would be like to be stationary and anonymous while the walkers sped by me. I wanted to be like the post. For just a second or so. One after another they came and went. Everyone, I figured, had their morning to-do list in their head and that is why they were on their way to somewhere else. I know to-do lists and their insidious nature.

I held my breath as I squeezed the shutter release. I wanted to remember this singular moment when the world was zipping by me. I made photographs of the happening.