One night Spencer stops by our little room. Katie is laying in a mess of quilts and pillows, on her computer. They are talking, we are talking, and Katie’s hand brushes the strings of her guitar resting against the wall. Music. Suddenly there is song after song, late into the night, and Katie’s haunting voice is echoing throughout the building and they both know so many songs, the right melodies and keys audible to them in ways I cannot hear or know. Katie’s voice always catches me off-guard, the strength and intensity and fluidity of it. I sit for a long time and watch my friends in admiration. Talented photographers, artists, writers, and apparently, musicians. Kind, funny, intelligent, hardworking, ambitious people. This is a magical place, I think, to draw us all together to a tiny town on the coast, living together under blazing stars and amongst lush blossoming trees, dreaming of photographs, always. The admiration I feel for the people around me is extraordinary.
One morning it is foggy and Katie and I awake early and drive to town, work on projects together at a sunlit table near the window of a cafe. Our house seems especially full of character in the fog.
Katie, in the morning.
Later. Washing dishes, Spencer’s house.
The summer is beginning to draw to a close. The vibrant greens of the forests, the bog and the fields, once nearly blue in their newness and life, have begun to take on a golden tone, wearing out around the edges. I cannot help now but think of the next place, the next thing. The next project, the next photographs. The thoughts cannot stay away now, but I try as best I can to cling to every fleeting moment of here, this beautiful time.
At least there is a plan now. For a while I thought very seriously of leaving school, again, of chasing bigger dreams, but something deep down eventually told me no. Now is not the time; finish what you start. I will return to Rhode Island in the fall, for one final year, the last year. It’s going to be a good one. My ambition builds, even in my sleep.
