Late Summer Afternoons

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late summer afternoon rains
dance across the horizon
illuminated by lighting strikes
and accompanied by thunderous roars
birds take flight and the trees stand tall
in the winds that bring summer afternoon rains


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An Ode to the Girl Who I Could Never Write


Girl | Girl I | Girl II | Girl III | Girl IV | Girl V | Girl VI | Girl VII | Girl VIII | Girl IX | Girl X | Girl XI | Girl XII | Girl XIII | Girl XIV | Girl XV | Girl XVI | Girl XVII | Girl XVIII | Girl XIX | Girl XX | Girl XXI | Girl XXII | Girl XXIII | Girl XXIV | Girl XXV | Girl XXVI | Girl XXVII | Girl XXVIII | Girl XXIX | Girl XXX | Girl XXXI | Girl XXXII | Girl XXXIII | Girl XXXIV | Girl XXXV | Girl XXXVI | Girl XXXVII | Girl XXXVIII | Girl XXXIX | Girl XL | Girl XLI | Girl XLII | Girl XLIII | Girl XLIV | Girl XLV | Girl XLVI | Girl XLVII | Girl XLVIII | Girl XLIV | Girl XLV | Girl XLVI | Girl XLVII | Girl XLVIII | Girl XLIV | Girl XLV | Girl XLVI | Girl XLVII


The girl and I danced across the horizon with rains just above our eyes. We danced in the light of lightning and to the beat of thunderous drums. Her smile captured my world, and I became the dancefloor across which she danced. The girl became a dress that fell to the floor; her body now only a reminder of what there once was.


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Recently, the girl and I celebrated our three year anniversary. It was a magical afternoon of late summer rains, that will continued to this very day. Metaphorically and literally. The summer rains have not yet stopped, and for two days now we have yet to see the sun. But this is perfect, as overcast days make for the best photographs. The light was perfect, and we captured moments of joy and laughter, of seriousness and love. Metaphorically as well, because the rains always bring with it the hope of growth, saturating the soil in which our roots are growing.


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Rare moments captured, the tender touch of a lover, the hard look of a yearning desire... We devour the moments in which only a photograph can serve as a reminder that it happened. A piece of history that no victor will be able to tell the story, as the lovers' passion does not allow for the stories to be retold. We live in the moment of desire that endlessly detach itself from reality only to merge in new places where nothing of the previous remain. It is all copies of copies, but in the end the link to the original is lost to time.

We are forever trapped in the world of our own making.


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We filled our glasses with the essence of life, with wine made from the grapes of the world's potential. We climbed the tree of life, and we sat in her branches thinking about the endless pathways we can walk from here. Endless branching into infinite possibility...


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The girl and I took our last sips from the glass of wine. We enjoyed the moment for what it was, a reminder to live, to be able to smile, and to enjoy the endless potential that our being together can create.

For now, happy photographing, and keep well.

All of the musings and writings are my own, albeit inspired by the beauty of the girl I could never write. The photographs are my own, taken with my Nikon D300 and Nikkor 50mm lens.



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