Here are a few more Saturday photos, because Saturday was technically perfect. Also, because they are memories and good photos and sometimes bad photos and sometimes those bad photos are the best memories. The best memories for me, anyway, he told himself, because that little blur is evocative of how memories can get sometime.
Not that Saturday is blurry, but one day it will be. Well, not last Saturday, because it was wonderful and unique and technically perfect. But, in general, some memories turn out a bit like this around the edges:

Cell phones are useful like that. They fit in my jersey pocket and you can take a picture riding down the road with the flick of a finger and the squeeze of a thumb, all while you carefully watch the area in front of you. But they don’t give you the best picture all of the time. I can’t imagine, of course, doing all the things required to get that picture — blurry or clear! — with a DSLR. So it’s useful, much like a bokeh lens. Inferior quality glass became art after it moved from Eastern Europe to the west.
I have a bokeh lens. I should break that out soon. So watch for those.
They teach you, in photography class, about how lines are good. They direct the eye. They mark action and movement. And, of course, I like repetition in photos. (I don’t know if anyone else has noticed that, but I picked up on it some years ago. I’m bemused that I only really see it in the finished photos, but I’m not nearly so aware of my tastes for that when I’m composing the picture.)
So, anyway, here are some lines in a photo, directing the eye, implying movement, in this case, we’re going deeper into the photo. In my case, I was, on my bicycle.

I took a selfie. Because they’ll also tell you, in photography class, that things like signs are boring. But if there’s some activity, some person or people, that helps.

If it’s a tunnel, it’s photographically perfect. OK, it’s not photographically perfect. I wasn’t thinking about the Fibonacci spiral, which you might also learn about in a photography class, when I took that picture. So there’s that. Without thinking about it, I technically filled the negative space, which is technically imperfect. Which is, technically, perfect.