what is it about the moments we attempt to capture and hold onto?  is it that these perfect slices of time clearly define an emotion or an ideal for us?  is it our associative mind connecting us to other moments from our own past?  or is it that this moment we’ve captured is simply unpolluted by everything we consider to be ‘not-real?’  moments like these come rarely to a stranger’s eyes; they are not cued.  they occur, like all moments in the real world:  of their own volition and oblivious to a photographer’s contrivance.