The quiet of momentous events

'Have you seen my camera? I can't find it.' I ask my partner as my hands open a drawer I've already checked five times. I am convinced I tidied it somewhere in the study when I put away nearly all of my photography equipment. 'Have you checked your storage?' No I have not. I jump downstairs and pull the curtains in front of the cavity below the stairs. There, in one of the small IKEA plastic boxes, the camera stands, surrounded by a handful of once well used siblings. I pick it up and bring it back to the study before I have time to think about it. I have no idea why I am doing this but it feels right and I choose not to question this feeling. The next day I bring the camera to work. I know I will not use it but it needs charging. I can do this at home but something feels right about packing the camera with me on that day. It charges faster than I thought it would, the battery barely drained after months of storage. I close the charging door shut and return the camera to the depth of…