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Дианабад, София
Dianabad, Sofia
майка напуска Панагюрски Клонии
Mom leaving Panagyurski Kolonii
майка в гората на Рилския манастир
Mom in the Forest of Rila Monastery
pictures in my head
i remember being satisfied with the last photo i shot on the roll.
content that i’d only brought 2 rolls on the drive up to the Rila monestary.
but as we drive back i turn to the right, and see it.
a beautiful rainbow stretching above the mountains and village below
in the grass, red and orange poppies spring up
my moms favorite flower
we pull over in the shoulder and sprint from the car to the field of flowers
i search my bag for another roll that i know is not there
devastated i won’t be able to capture this moment
i bring my viewfinder up to my eye trying to memorize the image that could have been
i admired the composition, colors, light and shadows, a miracle moment where the clouds parted and refracted light shone through;
i then reluctantly put my camera down.
that photo will always remain in my memory but the world i was surrounded by when i looked up was even more of a miracle
i looked at my mom and my sister recognizing the similarities we share but also the differences that made us unique.
gratitude filled me up as i enjoyed that moment with just them.
thank you to my sister for capturing the moment i was forced to put the camera down and accept that some things don’t need to be photographed.
when asked about his favorite photo ever taken, elliot erwitt replied “It was in Venice. Two men. The composition, the timing... everything was perfect. But I didn’t have a camera. And maybe if I had taken it, it would have been a bad photo.”
a lot of my photos don’t capture the beauty of what i see in the moment and i’m okay with that, i even love that only I can remember what made a moment special.
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trip up the trail, to our spot
our double destiny
the now familiar path brings refreshing waves of hope
of innocent curiosity
the impulse to shoot is ever amplified
in those moments we are content,
present.
distended in time
sun on our face, wind in her hair
driving back, a sign calls to me from the road
we stop, i shoot.
told to disperse i risk one more shot
days later it’s all gone
i wonder what remains of our escape,
our spot
who else has lost their recluse.
