Photography. I think the first time that I really knew I wanted to be a photographer was when I was a little girl. I was sitting on my grandfather’s lap and he was showing me a photo album and telling me about where he had taken this picture and that one. I remember being bored, a little. But, I liked snuggling with him. Smelling his cologne. Watching his big, old, wrinkled hands turn the pages. The sound of his gravely voice. I miss him.
Perhaps it was those pictures, the ones that captured me, took me away. The ones that made me put my small soft hand over his rough one. A simple gesture to convey much more. Not yet, grandpa. I want to look at this one longer. Or perhaps it was because of how I miss him so dearly, to try and sneak up on the horizon and feel closeness to him through imitating his talent, his gift.
Signing up for the photography class was thus inspired. My passion I intended to pursue. To follow in his footsteps.
It was that class that drew me to another. The boy. Too handsome, I thought. I believe he spoke to me first, though he says the opposite. No one is counting. Of course, we discussed photography, but our mutual interest kindled a mutual interest in one another. Available no longer.
The sun is setting in Stuttgart again. I am happy. We watch the city from a hilltop covered in wildflowers. We are in love. Take another photo, time captured for our shared album.
Copyright © 2014 Eric A. Schweitz