The Children of Spring Winds

In the winds we danced and let loose our hair. In the winds our hands tangled and touched the tips of blossoms--floating by our eyelashes and tickling the tips of our noses. Your curls unfurled with the blossoming season and turned into roses themselves. Our moon crept behind the trees and watched our feet mingle with the cool grass underneath. This is what it means to be a Spring child.

Model: Rehana

La Belle Blanche

The first day you brought me roses it snowed while the dawn broke and the orb shadowed behind your clouds. It fell from our sky and slid down our noses but we ventured together in the trenches of the forest. We played with pigeons and fed them what we had, your roses still in my arms. I returned to my abode to realize that you had left me and all that was left of you were the their petals. That night my fingers were frozen sticks and my feet melted by the fire, swallowing the last of our adventures and burning your petals forever.

 

                            

City Dreamer

Dream--for yourself. Explore to feed your desire and satisfy your mind. People talk, so let them. They'll never stop doing what they do, so neither should you.

These photos were taken a while ago when summer was still ripe, and I love them for the memories they leave behind

The Circus Traveler

Among wild children and tame tigers,

Wanders the Circus Traveler.

Underneath a mask of skin and shades,

A bag packed with memories,

Looking for the one he left all those many years ago,
When he became the Circus Traveler.

Broken Boats of Golden Hour

Her hair covered her face, as she stepped in the rays of the golden hour. The land was lit on fire, the sky was burning. She slowly stepped down from the boat, and into the world.

Blossom of my Heart and Mind

I lay here as the flower branches canopy my lids and the grass bed becomes my cushion. Air, pure wind, cradles my face. Images flash through my mind as it creates another whole world. Water kissing my feet and sand tickling my toes, clouds on the tips of my fingers, and glitter on my eyelids. I see the world through the permanent lens that's built into my mind. It leaks through my fingers and seeps into the photographs that I create. Every 4 by 6 frame holds a different story: a moment, frozen to sift through moments later or years after. 

For me, and I am sure for many others, photography began as a simple click of the camera in my hands. I clicked anything and everything, from salt shakers to butterflies in my backyard. Then it leaked into the way I viewed everything around me. Now it's more than a hobby. It's a passion that I feel uneasy without. The familiarity of the camera sidling my face is like eating food and drinking water. But as with everything else, photography comes with its ups and downs. When the ideas of your mind don't translate into your photographs, into something solid that you can hold and touch and show, frustration begins to creep along the edges of your conscience. But even this, I've learned, is part of growing and molding as a photographer. Face each hurdle with a clear mind and fresh ideas, and the hurdles will slowly lessen. Photography is a blossom that needs watering and care. Only when you are determined in your endeavors will you notice the blossom turn into a flower.

Daisy's Child

Soft creamy white petals cradle my room in the airy morning light while a sweet serenade ring a tune in its corners. It felt wonderful to run my fingers along the shutter button of my camera and lift the strap around my neck. My cousin is over and so, of course, I dressed her up in daisies from our front yard and told her to "say cheese!".

Urban Tiger

We roamed the streets and crossed lights, weaving through people in the city. We shopped later in the afternoon, came across a quiet bookstore and Urban Outfitters.