I'm pretty sure the only way to stop making images here is to either:
a.) close my eyes and never leave the house, or b.) walk around like a fool with a bag on my head.
It makes no difference where the sun hangs in the sky; whether a fella, lady, or little one passes me by; or if arms are linked in dance or one's simply bending to tie a shoe—this place and her people teem with images just waiting to be made.
And for that, I am equally grateful as I am exhausted.