Gun Gravestone

Would it surprise you to learn I was raised around firearms?

Richard, my father, taught me safety and respect when it came to guns. He taught me to appreciate both their danger and the art of their construction, their proper use, to never point them at anyone for any reason. I took him seriously, and so did every member of our household. So there was never any gun-related incidents in our family.

Whenever I see a gun, old or new, revolver or semi-automatic, pistol or rifle, I remember his teachings. And during a trip to Providence, I came across a ghostly site where I seemed to hear his words again.

Nowadays, of course, the only shots I take are with a shutter button. That makes this picture doubly ironic. Rusting pistols and rifle barrels of all types were embedded in a concrete column, impotently peeking out of their stony tomb, seeming to whisper of days of war.

Sometimes street photography is actually about the street, not necessarily the people in it.

Exposure Data: ISO 125, f/5, 1/100

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Written by The Twilit Lens

Freelance photographer and ponderer of the unusual. I welcome the presence of mystery and the unknown. Wonder is not absent from the universe, and there is still room for the child in those who haven't yet allowed their hearts to wither to dust.


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