It was cold and my fingers were numb. Though, the sunlight was beautiful.
I traced the light with my lens.
I heard the fall leaves crackle under my feet as I walked across the faded green lawn. I would pause and let the sun kiss my face.
The American flag clapped and whirled as it hung proudly on the side of a darkly aged brown barn. Remember.
I’m still in the beginnings of tracing light, molding and shaping shadows. Though something in me is reflecting outward. It causes pause.
The portrait is always a portrait. I don’t create it. The image has spoken and continues to speak, with or without me.
My eye does not see, it discovers.
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