Old Photos With New Eyes

My old photos have a kind of magic about them.

It’s not just the connection to the past or their ability to resurface a memory I didn’t realize had sunk below the surface.

It’s the way photos seem to age like fine wine, becoming more precious over time. Even the mundane ones. Even the ones with awkward expressions, poor lighting, poor composition.

The mess in the background transforms from an annoyance to place-setting scenery.

The awkward poses and surly expressions become endearing: Oh, yes, Grandpa did make that face, didn’t he?

My own imperfections, glaring in the mirror today, are softened in old photos. I can see myself more kindly. Others, too.

What will it be like for future me, looking at photos of current me?