Last week I shared a plate of desserts and too-sweet coffee drinks with friends at a local cafe. It was hot outside but not stifling (like it is today, for instance), so the five of us sat on the back patio and chatted about poetry and melancholia and hail and ceilings that collapse on you while you sleep. I had a box of blueberries in my bag; they had turned upside down and lodged themselves in every possible crevice while we walked, including in and on my camera.
I removed the berries, placed them atop a bowl (with leftover German chocolate cake) and began to wipe down my camera. We had also talked about pigeons -- their coo (menacing or baby-fresh, depending on the context) and their bravery (whether it was bravery indeed or naivete).
There were a lot of these pigeons on the table next to us, ten maybe. I grabbed my camera (still covered in berry seeds, still today covered in berry seeds) and tried to get a picture of their space/food hoarding of this one table. Of course as soon as I got them in sorta focus, they all flew away -- all but one! The joy of a fully manual camera is that you miss a lot; this is one of my favorite parts, of course, because missing one thing means getting another.
When I was walking away, a young girl (high school age, probably) got up from a nearby table and came toward me. She asked about my camera, and I showed her how I've taped the bottom from sliding off and the battery from sliding out. The light was incredible on her -- nothing special, just a strip of leaf-light here and there. I asked if I could take a picture of her. She smiled very happily and said, 'Sure.'
I took her by the hand and moved her toward one spot under the tree. I turned her face with my other hand.
She was very quiet and very peaceful. She said 'Thank You' after I snapped two frames.
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