Stiff back, morning yoga.
Steamed shower, poached egg.
Orange off the shoulder, blue flats.
Salty sea air, umbrella'd skies of gray.
Farmer's market, lemon and sugar crepe.
Sound of lens snap, forwarded film.
Double short latte, flirty walk home.
Long kisses in the kitchen, big green eyes bat their lashes.
Washed strawberries, goodness of fresh-caught (this morning) mussels.
Productive photo shoot, the kindness of friend and neighbor.
He leaves but his goodness lingers.
Wishes for boating, friends ever-hospitable.
Saying no because "I have a deadline."
Solo work day, article quite near satisfactory.
Loud Ulrich Schnauss, hours of photo editing.
Caprese on crackers, Montepulciano d'Abruzzo swirling in glass.

Living. Breathing.
Goodness.

Sunday.

I am heartsick over the loss. Dear friends, I have regrettably left my camera at a restaurant, and no one has called to say she has been found. I am distraught, and before you think I am being maudlin, know that this particular family member has much sentimental value.

She was given to me by my sister as a "congratulations on surviving but I am glad your out of teaching" gift. That was FOUR years ago this week, just before Teresa also bought Joel and my way on an Alaskan Cruise. Sigh.

Over these last four years, I have found a part of myself come alive through the lens of that trusty little point and shoot canon. I was not a photographer when she came into my life, and now I am.

But what is a photographer with no camera?

The mister and I are off to find a good deal on a newer one, but I am still so very sad indeed. Good thing I had just emptied the pictures.