Amelia

It's not terribly uncommon,

but still surprises me every time

that sometimes, okay, most of the time,

I spend a morning, an afternoon, dusk hours with a subject,

watching them through the lens,

learning about their life, their loves,

I promise them pictures within a few weeks, knowing I've got so much I need to be juggling,

but then

I get home,

play my music,

scroll through the frames,

and

it takes over,

I'm captured.

The beauty is beyond enthralling.

Sometimes,

it's a baby's just enough of a forehead wrinkle, curve of curiosity, glint of mischief just born.

Or,

sometimes, it's a breath between two, a slant of the spine, hint of their desire, their passion, their own unique way.

Maybe,

it's a quiet moment, I press the shutter button and catch the tranquility,

Often,

it's an in-between chance, a laugh, a sigh, something's there for just a second, and then it's gone, except discovered when I get home, in love with what I've found.

It's what happened with this gal.

She rode the train in through Missouri hills for our shoot this past weekend.

She's been through a lot in just eighteen years,

her life, already, has been so full of gloriously crowned mountaintop peaks,

and unforeseen, dark, devastations of valleys,

more than many ever journey through in a lifetime.

But, see, she's chosen a way of beauty, a way of triumph; she's chosen to blossom,

she shines.

Like my Grandma B says, while pinching and rolling and kneading her homemade rolls and shooing a wayward barn cat,

"Cream always rises to the top."

The sky blues for her, her work paves her gravel country road,

And Amelia, she's risen, she rises.

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