Spoken Photograph.

 “Are you a photographer?”

I’ve heard it asked quite a few times ever since our family acquired a Canon Rebel.
To many, if you lug around a brick of a camera..you’re a photographer. I inwardly sigh when this question is asked. It really depends on your definition of photographer.
Dictionary.com describes it as “One who takes photos,” Yes, yes I do take photos. But if that’s the criteria for being a photographer, all of us may produce ads for photography.
Dictionary.com also furnishes us with a continued description “ especially one who practices photography  professionally.” Ah! There’s the catch. No sir, I’m not a photographer. 

Because I’ve dabbled in the area, and have read a few articles here and there, I know one thing that categorizes a photographer. They take a camera with them everywhere. They’re always ready for something to happen, ready to capture it. I’m not like that. I have a smaller camera in my bag, but I rarely whip it out just in time to capture something great. There’s a camera on my phone, but I never use it, (unless I’m frightfully bored, which is why I never use it.)

Many times, not carrying/using a camera has resulted in a missed photograph. Something I would have liked to have photographed, but I didn’t. The image may have stuck with me, however, thanks to the wonderful blessing of a God-given camera, our eyes, and a huge memory card, called the mind. (Huge in comparison with camera cards…) So what I’ve decided to do, is make a series of Spoken Photographs. Every time I miss the chance to photograph something, I’ll write it out as best as I can, and hopefully, you can see the image in your mind’s eye. 

Depending on if the image made me think, or made me see something I liked, it’ll be a description of the thoughts it produced, or the details and colors, and description of the image itself.


 Her giggles rode the last few of the summer sun’s golden rays up and down and up and down the street. Up up up, tickling the lush green foliage of the birch trees above. The leaves nod echoing her giggles. Her chubby toddler hands, one tightly gripping the handlebar of her brand new tricycle, the other keeping her sparkly princess tiara from slipping off her smooth curls.

 “Watch me mommy! Watch me daddy!” She appeals as she races past their driveway. “Look! I can do it! See?” She wants to share her joy, to share her exuberance over her new found ability. “I can ride a bike! I can!”

 Pudgy little feet send pedals racing round round round. The sparkly streamers on the handlebars pass by in a glittery blur. Up and down the street, in the driveway and out again. . . gleeful giggles on her part,

.. . satisfied, contented and tired sighs from theirs. They smile at her and chuckle as she calls out to them. They sit on the porch, mother cuddling and rocking little brother in his spring blue blanket, father sitting with his hands behind his back, chest open wide, unconsciously proud of his choice of a birthday present. He knew she’d like it.

 One last time before it’s time to go in and face the residue of a five year old’s birthday party. Up the quiet neighborhood street she pedals, faster faster faster. The sun’s rays have finished their farewells now and only their backs may be seen past the trees. The breeze has picked up and is cooler; it brushes against her auburn locks and teases the hem of her birthday dress. A hesitant sunbeam runs back and escapes from behind a branch just long enough to give her one last kiss and light up her silhouette with the evening’s sunset colors, her eyes are radiant and full of smiles.

Happy Birthday little one, happy birthday.

 .. .