on sunday, i took pictures for my friend emma. she’s a maker of herbal, pretty, lovely, smelly body things. she asked me to take some pictures of her products. i said yes.
at the bottom of the hill, rocks rolling beneath my tires, i left a cape of dust and pulled underneath an old oak tree aside a yellow house. a yellow country house. a big white pyrnees, mabel, came loping out, growling lowly at my pooch, who cowered like the baby he is, his tail wagging uncontrollably.
he found a kitty. the kitty hid in the yard couch cushion. he looked for the kitty.
emma’s house was lovely. as a former country bumpkin, i will stick vehemently to my vow to “never move out to the country again”, and, even when visiting the most picturesque of country abodes, this resolution stands firm. i ain’t got time for that shit, but bless anyone who does.
the house: quaint. the interior: impeccably redone. the decor: befitting of emma.
we tinkered with her products…. vanilla body oil, eucalyptus lim balm, homemade soap (yeah, with LYE), clove oil pull mouthwash, you get the picture.
i set up lovely displays. we talked about Green Fork Farmer’s Market, big brothers, to have children, to not have children. oh, lord, send me a man who things i am enough, and kids, come as they may, are not a necessity, a deal-breaker, a completion of happiness.
we spoke of dogs. we played with dogs.
i took, over the course of 3 hours, roughly 400 pictures. i edited them, and was shocked at my skill. or my lens’ skill. or our revolutionary synergistic creation in emma’s Ozark country kitchen.
i imagine i’ll be doing this more often. i love to capture a moment, and creating moments to capture is just as rewarding. the metallic grind of the camera lens has a precise soothing effect. my mind shifts as the lens adjusts, and for a moment my brain slides open as an aperture as we click together in a blessed frame.