A young woman with long straight hair that cascades over her shoulders sits atop a boulder gazing off into the distance, her hands folded between her legs, her right foot casually propped up on a rock. Behind her the flat fields are covered with patches of icy snow. In the distance, a swell of hills. To her right, maybe a few hundred feet away, the low neat rectangle of a building. When I first saw this shot, which is overexposed and out of focus, I thought she was sitting on a boulder by the sea. That is, not when I first saw the picture, but when I first saw it again, more than thirty years later, after taking the old negative from a box in the closet and scanning it into the computer--when I first saw it again, the moment of taking the picture completely lost, the circumstances utterly gone. When the film strip's negative image was translated and digitized I saw a young woman sitting on a boulder by the sea. At first I couldn't remember who she was, but after a moment memory coalesced. A friend from college. An art student, who once did a portrait of me in oil which I can still sort of remember. I think I was wearing a peace symbol around my neck. She had a cute and innocent look, like a good upstate girl, but with something dark and sad right under the surface, a look in her eyes that suggested depth and knowledge. She was interesting. We were friends. She must have come with me to Long Island. We must have walked along the Sound, since that's where there are stretches of rocky beach, places where there might have been boulders. I would have brought my camera those days. I would have tried to capture the complicated mix of smooth-skinned innocence and the burn of sadness and knowledge. The waves are frothy, the kind of waves the wind whips up on a blustery day. Only I couldn't swear this is the same young woman. Her name is gone. And once the computer corrected the overexposure, it wasn't the sea behind her but a field--and the frothy waves are patchy snow. So . . . This is a young woman I knew circa 1967-1968. She sits atop a boulder someplace unknown, someplace in the past. Make of her what you will.