To remember what is gone

   I took the picture below of what I believe was a tree in Golden Gate Park. When I came upon this scene and decided to take a photo of it, I was confident that I was correct in my assumption that a tree had been there, though I couldn't really recall it. I found it strange that my memory was so nonspecific in this case, as I walk here daily, pass this spot at least a couple of times as I complete my laps, and consider myself to possess a strong visual memory.
   As I began to think about my poor recall on this occasion, I realized  that changes that occur in my visual field, such as objects I've seen in specific locations, are sometimes striking in their absence, while on other occasions, like this one, seem to disappear both physically and from my brain.
   While I know well about myself that I tend to best remember the things that I find most important, in this case I can't figure out if this tree, or the area where it was located, was any more or less important than any other area of the park to me. I feel like I would normally be able to visualize quite well things that I choose to see often, it seems that in this case that I am just having difficulty seeing the absence.

It was a tree, wasn't it?

Absence

   This is a still image from a short video of a coyote that I took a couple of days ago during a morning walk in Golden Gate Park. I was feeling quite depressed at the time that I first saw it off in the distance, and although the animal appeared worried by my presence and kept its' distance, the sighting helped me feel a bit better, at least for the the moment.
   When I looked at the clip a bit later, it was apparent that the coyote, which was already difficult to see clearly, was nearly indistinguishable from the surroundings in the video. Although I was a bit disappointed, the experience remained important to me, in spite of my not-so-good mood.
   As I continued walking, I used an application from my phone to try to produce a still from the video, hoping that maybe there was an image where the coyote was not only a bit clearer, but distinguishable as a coyote. After a bit of trial and error, I settled on the image below. and thought about the feelings I had at the time. As I experience other feelings now, I am aware of how delicate and fragile is my sense of presence and permanence in the world. This holds true for me, and well as those in it.
   Much in the same way that the coyote appears barely there (it is the grayish-brownish object in the gray, upper center-right), I often sense that the people in my life that I rely on the most are not always fundamentally present. I don't always find that a person's physicality makes feel like they are really with me. It depends on the person, as well as me.
   Though it is hard to show that an individual standing before you is not fully there, trusting my own feelings on the matter should be less difficult.

Is there a coyote really there?