The collector.

Nature

Photo by Erika Kochanski.

I am a girl of nature. I think I always have been. When I was a kid I made soup out of flower petals, twigs, water and dirt then my family would sit down and pretend to eat it. I grew out of making garden soup, but not out of nature. Now that I’m older I’m the kind of girl who rescues snails and ladybugs from the pavement or a preying mantis from a car bonnet. I escape to cities temporarily for the greatness they offer, but feel most at home when it’s just me outside catching the last of the day’s sun-rays somewhere on the edge of civilization where wild things roam.

I get my kicks out of spotting a hawk flying overhead or hearing a woodpecker in the forest. I love the rain. I feel alive in the wind. I would rather spend an hour watching a bee collect pollen than ten minutes in a nightclub. Birds make me smile; I often stop to watch them swoop down over a running stream. I jump over slugs so as not to squash them. I take photos at strange moments, but it is usually because something small and seemingly insignificant has taken my attention. That’s how I end up collecting a billion photos of random things throughout any journey I undertake.

I never thought of myself as a collector, but now when I think of it I suppose I am. I am a collector of experiences and memories. My photos are a way to capture time the way I see it. When I look over them I feel an air of peace; a certain feeling of quiet. Every photo, no matter how odd the subject matter, can pinpoint a moment in my life which becomes frozen solid in my memory. This is why I take photos when I travel, because without them memories become less accessible, they may even wither and die as they fall into the forgotten. I do not want to forget.

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