I saw her standing there against the back drop of a fistful of trees, but the hard focus of my lens made it appear as if she was in a forest. She wore long Bohemian clothing that swayed in the slight breeze after it tickled the leaves above her. I held my camera up and stared for a few moments before dropping my eyes to snap the shot. There was a waviness to her hair that cascaded down her shoulders. It was a perfectly aligned mess.
She wasn’t looking at me. I don’t even know if she saw me, but I couldn’t stop looking at her.
There were freckles peppered across her face, as if she dropped a can of red paint and it splattered back randomly in small droplets.
I took the picture, several actually. I snapped them as she stood there and looked randomly around as if she were waiting for someone who should have already been there. It feels so rare to catch these glimpses of beauty unencumbered. No requirements or obligations, just observation.
She disappeared in a random direction with a random man and I’ll never see her again, but at least I got to see her that once. I got a picture of beauty and for that I’m thankful.
A Hopeless Romantic, Stirred 