A kindred spirit with a stranger’s face. That’s how it starts. A friendship. An album. A project. A life. This photograph.
I keep stealing words from a friend. She’s gonna want a word with me. Eventually. But, not right now. For me, the words are just a good place to begin. That means something to me too. But…
I found these flowers planted near a little pocket park. They don’t belong here. They aren’t native to the area. They are like me.
I got into one of those conversations.
The ones that make me crazy. The ones where somebody who was born and bred in New Orleans says that I’m not from here so I don’t know about things.
Normally I would explain that I’ve lived here for twenty years. Not this time. Since I’ve emerged from whatever funk I was in I’ve been feeling my oats.
This time I looked that person straight in the eye and said, “Thank God for that.”
Try as he might he couldn’t get me to move off of my position. He gave up when I said, “Why would I want to have your inbred southern ways?
No, not the end. I don’t really feel that way. But, don’t push me. I’m glad that I’ve lived all over the place. I’ve been lucky to absorb bits from many cultures, from many races. I feel at home in many places. I’m from many places. I’ve gotten to know many different kinds of people.
You know. The words that I began with. A kindred spirit with a stranger’s face.
I mean that.
Yellow flowers in New Orleans. Maybe. But not this shade. Not this bright.
These flowers are especially bright because they are backlighted. That’s what caught me eye.
That’s also what caused such extreme contrast. Little phone sensors just can’t deal with it.
There is an HDR setting. I used it. This is the result.
Oh well. You know what I always say. Perfection is for angels.
Stay safe. Stay strong. Stay mighty. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Keep your distance. Look after each other. Notice all the light.