My Father's Picture

The picture before me was taken from an unknown building looking out on an unknown street. The one bare tree visible from across the street is touched by recent snowfall, as is the large electric pole with its wires stretching high above ground. My father must have taken this photo at the very latest in 1932, which is when he left his homeland never to return. A few weeks before his death in New York, as we were leafing through old photographs, I asked him why he had taken that picture from the sunken basement window that peered out on the street. He gave a hasty look at the picture, recognized it right away, but wouldn’t say what it represented or why he had snapped that photograph. I asked him for the name of the street, which would allow me to google it and show him the same spot on my laptop in today’s world. But his tired reply was, “What for?” He was shutting a door to his past life. No need to share anything any longer. Whatever this was had best be left alone.