Roses.

I crouched down, my knees aching. I'd been in that position for half an hour, resting on my heels trying to balance. My camera lens was brand new, and I had no idea what I was doing. Photo after photo was either too dark, too blurry, too awful. I kept at it; they were the most beautiful roses I'd ever seen at that point in my life, and they needed to be captured before the petals curled and dropped. I just wanted one photo.

Lines.

The first time I met her, we were walking around Athens. I was looking down at the cracks in the pavement, taking photos. She was looking at me. "What exactly are you taking a picture of?" she asked me, gesturing at my camera. I furrowed my brow slightly, then smiled. "I like lines," I replied. And thus began our friendship.

Sky, Pink Sky.

It was this night. The power was out, and the sky looked like the end of the world. I thought that it might be, the way that the pink lit my skin on fire. I thought a bit about nuclear warfare, how I would become a dusty silhouette almost instantaneously if I found myself near the center of the drop point. And mostly I thought about how we might all play board games with each other every night if electricity was no more.

Upside Down Christmas Tree.

I wandered around the house the day after we put up our upside-down Christmas tree, my socks sliding on the floor, camera around my neck. My lens wouldn't auto-focus correctly in the dim light of the tree. Frustrated, I let go of my camera, then decided to try once more for a clear photo. The camera knew better than I did.

Big Mountain, Big Sky.

It was heaven. My first trip up a ski slope, wildflowers erupting along the path below us, 67 degree breezes fluttering my hair-and that sky. That sky. It was the biggest, deepest blue sky I had ever seen. The spicy evergreen scent permeated my nose, and the view that met my eyes at the top of the lift was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Pure majesty.

Popsicle Tree, Texas.

It was freezing cold for South Texas. The wedding in the garden had been moved inside. After getting out of the car and stumbling into the beginning stages of the ceremony accidentally, we headed outside into the biting wind. I sniffed out the Grape Popsicle Tree, inhaling in its delicious scent before its closeup.

Sinew and Shadow, Vienna.

It was another long day. But the Viennese air was fresh with the bridal wreath, and our esteemed tour guide was allowing us an early lunch. But before we scattered across the city for nourishment, I was being called to one last place in the square. The sun cast dimensional shadows on the marble, bringing to life an ancient scene.

Mozart's Flower, Vienna.

We had been walking for hours. When we finally reached the tiny, hidden cemetery on the outskirts of the town, there was an old woman eating her lunch on a bench underneath low-hanging branches. It was quiet and calm, and when we approached the mostly unadorned grave of the great composer, the group burst into exclamations over its simplicity. I wandered away from the mayhem of our group toward an unnoticed weed. I bent down, held my camera firmly and tried not to breathe away the seeds of life that hung on by a delicate thread.

December Sky in Texas.*

The day after Christmas, two years ago. I don't remember even taking this photo, much less the details of the weather. But Texas has some sky. That much I do know.

*These photos came from my other computer, so I'm not positive that I didn't do minor adjustments on the color. But as far as I can tell, I don't believe that I did.

Harper's Ferry, Maryland.

A piece of American history lay all around me. An interesting fact, but nothing was more important to me that day than the truly autumnal weather. Used to a more Southern Thanksgiving, the air and the light of the day were a pleasant surprise. The lines of the trestlework were calling to me. The golden yellow tree rustled slightly in the autumn breeze. I lifted my camera and nearly tripped over my own feet in the process.

Budapest, Hungary.

The city was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The remains of history weren't just stone; they existed in the people, the clothing, the food, the roads. History remained in the acts of day to day life. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I wandered away from my travel companions for a moment alone. I leaned my back against the low stone wall at the top of the hill. I turned around after a moment, and I was no longer by myself. It was me, my camera, and the blocks of color contained in a city covered with a patina so rich and layered that a thousand days would never be enough for me to capture its depths. I had just one day to try.

Lost Maples.

I had planned the day for weeks. Hiking, photographing the leaves, a picnic lunch. Most importantly, it was a chance to take my new lens for a ride. Walking through the gorgeous weather that day, I enjoyed every second. But I had a feeling that shot after shot, all of my images weren't quite right. Near the end of the hike, we stopped at this bridge. Even before I captured it, I knew that this was going to be the one. The one moment from that day that I was able to capture in any degree of good with my camera.

Big Sky, Montana.

I wondered if I was the first person to hike the mountain in a skirt. The air was thin and slightly crisp, the perfect weather for a July day. A mountain biker skidded past me on his bike, the dry dust of the wide trail puffing into the air. Stopping to dust off my skirt, I then looked up at the vertical reaching lines of the trees, raised my camera, and closed my eyes to the lens flare. Hoping for the best, I clicked the shutter.

The Prater, Vienna.

It was freezing outside. All around me, the people of Vienna were dressed in black fleece, black puffer vests, and long black pants. I was in a light grey linen dress with a grey and white thin-striped, three quarter sleeve, cropped painter's jacket. The perfect outfit for a non-Viennese spring. I shivered and lifted my camera, frozen fingers grasping the heavy black body. It was a ride I would never go on, but the lines of the swings parallel to the ornate body of the middle pillar was too much to pass up for a photograph.

Belvedere Windows, Vienna.

I sat on the stone bench, the soft black cover of my Molekine journal resting on my skirt. Tourists milled up the stairs next to me. My breath caught in my throat as I noticed my own group wander past me. I was hiding from them, wanting a moment of solitude in a bustling city. I shrank into the corner as they wandered up the staircase, hoping, no doubt for a glimpse of Klimt. I looked up at the lines reaching vertically and horizontally and knew that this was my kind of moment.