Every so often, the stars align in a fashion that might lead you to believe that the universe was conspiring in your favour. On this day, the universe seems to have one upped itself - not only conspiring in our favour, but substantially over delivering. The scrumptious light, an adorable trio of highly photogenic faces, and the sublime energy emitted as a result of this beautiful concoction. That would be enough, but it was not the only gift we were given. The other was (to me anyway) a message. A powerful message. A reminder. A dose of perspective. A gift. We finished the session - one that can only be described as an energetic, silly, fun, spontaneous, full-of-life and love, rambunctious display of shenanigans - kids being kids, running, playing, laughing. As we headed out of the park, we found ourselves returning full circle to the place we began, a quaint little nook with a still pond, a tiny bridge, the funky tree and some ducks gliding along. There, sitting in the serenity as a gentle evening light fell on their faces, sat a young child in a wheelchair, and (presumably) her caretaker or mother. The child was bald, and had on a headscarf of sorts - and they just sat. Still. Quiet. Taking in the beauty that we had blown past in the beginning of our jaunt. I mean, we noticed the ducks, the pond, the beauty of the day... but did we? Really notice? Did we take it in? Appreciate the gorgeous gift that it was? Perhaps. But likely not in the same capacity that these two were breathing it in. I do not know the story. I don't know if the child was ill, though all signs pointed to yes. As we walked by, I felt pulled. Paralized. Speechless. Compelled. Tortured by the juxtaposition, and crippled by the perplexity of my emotions. Such breathtaking beauty, yet simultaneous dysphoria.
I was in a heightened state of awareness and feeling very much alive, having just engaged my physical body and creative mind for the greater good - capturing, creating, bliss. I felt blessed, almost guiltily for feeling so when a young child sat there unable to experience the zealousness that the two children I had just captured did. Confined to a wheelchair. A young child. My eyes brimmed with tears. Tracy and I could not look at one another, nor did we need to, as there was an unspoken understanding. I pride myself on being someone who normally does not ignore "promptings" ... the whispers and gentle nudges that come my way. In fact, if anything I try to consciously act on them as often as I can, as I believe wholeheartedly that they are there for a reason. The truth is, what I saw was a photo. A breathtaking image, that I wanted to capture for them -- but I neglected to do so. To this day, I can't quite decipher if I regret it, or have come to believe that the message was delivered precisely as it was meant to be. With each passing step, I felt tugged to go back... but I didn't. This time I didn't. Perhaps my lens wouldn't have sufficiently relayed the dichotomous emotion I felt in my heart, diminishing it's significance. Perhaps that moment was meant to be just for them. Perhaps the peace and tranquility of their time would have been disrupted by my presence. Perhaps my desire to photograph them would be misconstrued as pity, and it was far from that - it was beauty. Undeniable beauty. For whatever reason, I walked on - letting the message take deep root in my heart. And with all matters of the heart, they can be as black and white as a nostalgic photo, or as complex as the roots of that tree. Sometimes the emotion cannot be captured, and we must simply let it be. Grateful.
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