8. Willow
EIGHT
Willow
I brought a wide angle lens, my 70-300mm, and my favorite of them all — a 100mm fixed macro lens, f/2.8. Its superpower is capturing subjects as close as you can get, perfect for the gorgeous details of anything at all. I could use this to capture the kaleidoscope of a person’s eyes, to the veins of a flower, to the rust on a nail, to the center of a single blade of grass, blurring out everything save for what I want the viewer to see.
Pressing the button to release the 70-300mm lens I used during the ride, I remove it and quickly align the red dot on the 100mm with the red dot on the camera, and turn until I hear its secured ‘click’ sound . I’ve got a fresh battery and my CF card has only the quickly-grabbed horse pictures.
Why didn’t I take any at the airport? Oh yeah, rushed. Plus, it was stressful there.
Laura pokes her head into our room, Dax gone already. “It’s 6:15 and I can’t wait. I’m starving.” She walks in, “Oh, this is lovely. Your window is gorgeous!”
I glance to the beautiful bay window with white gauzy curtains that fall to lay gracefully on the floor, they’re so long. “I’m in love with this whole place.”
“My room is blue, my favorite color. Normal window though.” Laura walks to look at my suitcase open on the bed. “Strategic shoving of the lenses into your clothes for protection.”
A laugh bursts out of me, and it feels good. “I need to get a proper case!”
“No, I like this. Hides it from the robbers.”
“The robbers might want my underwear more.”
She cracks up, and I join her as she points to my suitcase and explodes with, “What’s all this expensive camera stuff? I want panties!”
Maggie sticks her head into our room. “What?!”
We laugh harder and backtrack, explaining and letting her in on the joke, which never works as well as when it’s first birthed into the world. Still, she laughs a little and tells us, “I was just being nosy and checking out the other rooms. I’m in love with the charm of this place.”
Laura agrees and I excuse myself, saying, “I want to go capture those Sunflowers out front before it gets dark.” We three head downstairs to find the others occupying various seating areas in the main room, the dining table empty of people but fabulously decorated like something out of a magazine that beckons, Come break bread with family .
That reminds me, I have to call my Mom and tell her where I am. Whoops.
Seeing Rachel and Sylvia preparing dishes in the kitchen, I hold up my camera. “I’m just going to snap some pictures outside, is that okay?”
Rachel says with a warm smile, “This is your home while you’re here. You get to do whatever you want.” Raising her voice to include everyone she says, “That goes for all of the classes, too. Nothing is mandatory, except doing whatever you want to relax and have an enjoyable time.”
“Within reason,” Silvia laughs. “No rave parties.”
Several of us laugh, and Dax cracks a smile, eyes clear, headache seemingly gone. “Where is a good place to put up my easels?”
I look back as I’m heading outside to see where Silvia points Dax to, “That’s our Arts and Crafts room. It’s covered in paint already, floors too, so you’re free to go nuts if you want.”
I exit onto the front porch, white floorboards creaking under my hurried flats. The plan is to take a few photos and be in time for dinner. But plans change.
Following around the house, heading east and out of sight of the porch and entrance, I lose track of time, taking a generous amount of photographs of the gorgeous colors, intricacy of the frail leaves, waves of petals, their sunlike center that spreads out, often with a light green nucleus. I have to get on my tip-toes for some, drop to the ground for others, taking picture of underneath, the dark green cup that holds its beauty to the sky.
Suddenly I realize I’m supposed to be inside. Oh no! Nobody came and got me. Not that it’s their responsibly. My getting lost in this was my doing, but oh, I hope I haven’t gotten off to a bad start with the group.
Hurrying in, I am gushing, “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me. I lost track of the hour. I hope…” My breath catches in my throat as I lock onto a stranger I’ve never met, his dark green eyes set under a frown pointed right at me. “Who are you?”
Everyone looks between us, and Rachel, sitting next to him, raises her hand and starts to speak but he beats her to it with a look filled with confusion as he says simply, “Ben.”
My heart hurts.
I have no idea why.
I whisper, “Willow,” and take the empty seat beside Laura, as the dining table comes back to life.
But mine feels once again altered.
Twice now, during this trip, and it’s only the first day, a single word has changed who I am.