She said, "Oh, that's OK."
Once I got the photograph, I walked past her and noticed the lovely outdoor stool. "Wow, that's a nice stool!" I said, turning to the land spit by the beach.
"Thanks!" she called.
"I could use one of those," and I really could. Sometimes it's a pain just waiting and waiting and waiting for the right shot.
I gave up, and turned back to the bridge where she sat, cross-wise, legs out, for a bit of rest.
"I apologize again," I said, and she stood.
I noticed her painting and asked about it.
"It's for a class."
"Art major?"
"No. Environmental Arts and Humanities."
Then I saw the Alabama Outdoors water bottle.
"Are you from Birmingham!"
"Yes," she answered.
"Me too!"
And we were off -- similar pleasures in our home town, similar complaints, similar interests, similar insights. Chat about schools, and majors, and plans for the future, and art, and photography.
When I got home, I suddenly realized I had spoken to the writer of this superior essay -- "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" by Jessie Hook.
I hope you enjoy it too.
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