Photographs number as the stars. But not too long ago, the stars were bits of plastic film mounted in cardboard frames. Some of those old things fell to earth, forgotten, landing on old lawns, bent and stained. Why did someone make this photograph? Why is it now so small and worthless.
Such are photographs when they no longer serve to remind you of what and why, of who and when.
They land on the grass on the way to the dump, forgotten in plain sight.