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Description

Original photo " Fino Alla Fine Degli Occhi" by baroquedoll
Used by express written consent from the photographer herself.

As soon as I saw this photo of Erica's, I was immediately struck by the almost desperate reaching of the branches in the foreground. They seemed so intent on touching the more distant trees that were fading into the enveloping mists of the background. In my own heart, that feeling felt so passionate and intense that it reminded me of my late grandmother. She lost a son fairly early in life, and never got over that tragic loss. She even converted to Catholicism because the priest said it was possible for the devout to pray his lost soul out of purgatory. Because of that, she revered that priest and his church. She even had a cup in her home that only the priest was allowed to use when he would come visit her home. It was "The Priest cup" and nobody else could even touch it.

Grief affects all our lives in profound ways. There are places we can never return to and things we can no longer do without evoking the feelings of those loved ones we have lost. These are the tragedies that time cannot erase. So, we still reach for them, though we cannot touch them. They haunt our dreams. We see them in flashes of the things their absence haunts: a grandmother's chair, grandfather's tools, the garden she loved to tend, the old dusty typewriter dad used to type up his sermon notes, mom's weathered recipe books full of generations of scribblings, a Bible full of bookmarks and notes all over the margins in a hand other than our own. Their mementos linger, a silent testament of the vacant spot in our hearts.

So we remember, and reach in hopes that one day we will touch again.

I do have to add though that, baroquedoll had a different vision for this image. Hers was much more uplifting. She pointed out that the reaching branches were very close to touching. Maybe with one more season of growth those fronds might intersect. I was immediately overwhelmed by how pessimistic my own view had been. I wished I had seen what she had seen, and hoped to convey. I have debated whether or not to post this ever since. She had to encourage me twice to go ahead and post it, because I had been so shaken up by that contrast of outlooks.

So, let me know in the comments. Should I have changed my vision to better match her viewpoint? In either regard, I truly love her poetic photos. They always somehow capture emotional content with just the click of a shutter. It takes tremendous talent to find those shots that evoke such a deep sense of pathos. I feel truly privileged to be allowed to use her work to illustrate my own thoughts. So, thank you again. Erica. It means a lot to me!

Description

Original photo " Fino Alla Fine Degli Occhi" by baroquedoll
Used by express written consent from the photographer herself.

As soon as I saw this photo of Erica's, I was immediately struck by the almost desperate reaching of the branches in the foreground. They seemed so intent on touching the more distant trees that were fading into the enveloping mists of the background. In my own heart, that feeling felt so passionate and intense that it reminded me of my late grandmother. She lost a son fairly early in life, and never got over that tragic loss. She even converted to Catholicism because the priest said it was possible for the devout to pray his lost soul out of purgatory. Because of that, she revered that priest and his church. She even had a cup in her home that only the priest was allowed to use when he would come visit her home. It was "The Priest cup" and nobody else could even touch it.

Grief affects all our lives in profound ways. There are places we can never return to and things we can no longer do without evoking the feelings of those loved ones we have lost. These are the tragedies that time cannot erase. So, we still reach for them, though we cannot touch them. They haunt our dreams. We see them in flashes of the things their absence haunts: a grandmother's chair, grandfather's tools, the garden she loved to tend, the old dusty typewriter dad used to type up his sermon notes, mom's weathered recipe books full of generations of scribblings, a Bible full of bookmarks and notes all over the margins in a hand other than our own. Their mementos linger, a silent testament of the vacant spot in our hearts.

So we remember, and reach in hopes that one day we will touch again.

I do have to add though that, baroquedoll had a different vision for this image. Hers was much more uplifting. She pointed out that the reaching branches were very close to touching. Maybe with one more season of growth those fronds might intersect. I was immediately overwhelmed by how pessimistic my own view had been. I wished I had seen what she had seen, and hoped to convey. I have debated whether or not to post this ever since. She had to encourage me twice to go ahead and post it, because I had been so shaken up by that contrast of outlooks.

So, let me know in the comments. Should I have changed my vision to better match her viewpoint? In either regard, I truly love her poetic photos. They always somehow capture emotional content with just the click of a shutter. It takes tremendous talent to find those shots that evoke such a deep sense of pathos. I feel truly privileged to be allowed to use her work to illustrate my own thoughts. So, thank you again. Erica. It means a lot to me!