A few weeks ago I received an extraordinary gift from a Fiore Farms boarder, Margaret Bednar, who happens to be a phenomenal photographer as well as a thoughtful human being. She gave me a matted and framed photo of Mystic that she took last fall. Margaret is experimenting with large framed prints, with the intent of selling some. I was the lucky beneficiary of her first experiment; needless to say, the photo hangs in a place of honor in my house.
Margaret perfectly captured the essence of Mystic, from his solemn faraway gaze to his muscly wide-legged stance. The nuanced grays, blacks, and whites enhance his ethereal, old-soul presence. Every time I walk past the photograph, I fall in love with Mystic all over again.
The beauty of this black-and-white photograph got me thinking about my other favorite photos, taken by my sister Abigail. They capture the greatest love in my life—my son, Gabe, who turned 23 today. He told me this morning that he’s been thinking a lot about childhood memories and feeling a little sad. Why? I asked. “Because I’ve realized they’re just memories—that you can’t go back.”
It’s true: you can’t go back, but you can treasure photos of stolen moments, fleeting smiles, glimpsed spirits, allowing you to collapse time and live in the eternal country of the heart.