Photnograf

“I’ve been here before,” thought the caterpillar. To him, this particular door frame seemed so familiar. He remembered the space between the grains. He remembered the smell of the compost bin. He was comfortable there, warm in the morning sun. So he decided to stay for awhile.
“Just a minute,” he thought, “Then I’ll go on my way.”
The caterpillar detached his front legs and began to sway and stretch in every direction that he could without gravity taking hold.  The more he thought about it, the more he was sure that he had hung from this very spot. It wasn’t deja vous. It was just fuzzy. He began to dwell on it, and the memory of his last journey here became a little more clear. He remembered where it ended, but could not remember where it began.
“Oh shit,” thought the caterpillar, “I’ve fallen from this spot before.” As he began to grasp onto the wood with his front legs, the memory came rushing back to him. He could see everything the way it was then.
It wasn’t raining, but he could feel it coming on. The caterpillar assumed it would be a while until it started, and he was usually very good at predicting that kind of thing. The spaces between the wood grains were wide. With each movement, he would slide down the board a little bit and stretch back up. It was good exercise.
As the caterpillar neared the top of the door frame, he began to feel strong, high pitched vibrations. They felt like someone was yelling from inside. It might just have been the TV. A crack of lightning split the sky open.
Was he worried then? He couldn’t remember. Did he see it coming? He didn’t know. Was he frightened? The caterpillar could remember what he saw but he could not remember how he felt.
He couldn’t remember what he was thinking when it happened. When a long period of vibrations ended and the screen door slammed and he plummeted to the ground, he remembered the feeling of the air suspending his fall and the smell of the afternoon rain.
He couldn’t remember the sharpness of the agony when he dragged himself across the porch. He remembered hiding under an old flower pot for several days, but he doesn’t remember what made him go there, stay there or what triggered him to leave.
The caterpillar was always very interested in the big questions. He now clung to the door frame. He wanted to leave, but he was paralyzed with wonder.
“How important are my thoughts?” thought the caterpillar. He caught the irony of this question, but he continued to ponder it all the same.
After a moment, he decided to ask the caterpillar God for answers.
“Are they really that important, these thoughts and feelings?” asked the caterpillar to the caterpillar God. He was surprised at the quick response. It was only a second before his mind was flooded with the answer.
“Oh, dear caterpillar. It took you many years to figure it out, but you did at last. You see child, your mind is the bluest sky. Your thoughts and feelings are clouds floating across that sky. You have them. But you are not them.”
“But what am I then?” asked the caterpillar. When he got no response, he was not angry. The caterpillar realized how lucky he was. It’s not every day that the caterpillar God grants you an answer to your question.

The end.

Well! That went in a weird direction. I hope you enjoyed the first fictionalized photnograph. Please let me know if you have any photographic stories you’d like to share!