I dropped my camera. Right before all the action began on Christmas Eve. We were walking in the woods behind my parents’ house, investigating a huge tree that had fallen over and was completely hollow inside. The rest of my family was at home playing “Elves” — putting out all the presents. Santa would arrive while we were out with the munchkins.
On our way home, we saw a dog was loose. Little C. doesn’t exactly like dogs. She huddled close to me – well, actually, more like she clung to me. And I couldn’t hold everything – stroller, baby, and camera. The camera fell. Lens broke. But…not before I could capture some of the magic of this weekend…
C. taking picture of my parents’ cat
climbing the hallowed out tree that fell
a sweet hug that lingered for a long time with her godfather
The dead hollow tree, still magnificent. How is that — even in death? Is that how these moments we capture are – on film, in our hearts, on paper — long after our death? Is that how we are? Still magnificent? That what remains — after all that has been dropped and hollowed out — is magnificent?
Blessings,