Stone House

There’s an old stone house about a half mile up a hill from a cemetery where a lot of my family is buried.  Some day, when it’s my time, I want them to plant me there too.  Flintoft, Saskatchewan holds a special place in my heart.  It’s where the seeds of me began four generations ago when my great grand parents settled in the area after making the crossing from Romania.  I feel something in the air there whenever I breath it.  I feel the echos of those who came before me.

This evening I found myself with a camera in my hand, breathing that same air once again.  I was photographing my friend Lyndzie.  I didn’t say much once I started working.  She actually commented at one point that I hadn’t said a word for a very long time.  I guess my wheels were turning.  The photographs came easily.  I didn’t fret about the best way to frame her, or how to best capture the light.  It all just fell into place.  It was as easy as breathing.

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