Kira pointed across the hill.
“Oh, you’re right. I think I got a little turned around when I came down here. Is Rosie friendly?” Brogan asked as the dog raced at breakneck speed across the field toward them.
“Aye, she’s a boisterous one, but as loving as can be. Hey there, Miss Rosie. Are you joining us on a walk then?” Kira crouched and scratched behind Rosie’s soft ears. The dog smiled at her and then turned her head, her tongue lolling out as she looked up at Brogan.
Friend? Food?
“She wants to know if you’re a friend and if you have food,” Kira said.
“I am a friend, Rosie. Nice to meet you.” Brogan grinned as he bent over and petted Rosie. “As to food, I don’t think I have anything that’s dog-friendly. And I don’t want to get in trouble with Grace for making her dog sick.”
“Sorry, Rosie. You’ll have to beg your treats from someone else then.”
Let’s run! Running is fun!
Kira laughed as Rosie took off sprinting in circles around them. The dog was clearly as delighted with the soft spring day as Kira was. A gentle breeze brought the scents of damp and earth, along with a touch of the sea, and Kira tilted her face up to the sun for a moment.
“It’s nice to have a clear day, isn’t it?”
“It is. I was beginning to think the rain would never lift,” Brogan agreed.
They continued their walk along the cliff’s edge. Far below them, the waves crashed against the rocks, and gulls swooped lazily in the air.
“I rarely tire of the rain, I’ll admit,” said Kira. “I do love the moody lighting. It provides such a nice backdrop for portraits.”
“How did you get into photography? Was it something your Mam encouraged you to do?” Brogan picked up a stick and waited for Rosie to turn around before tossing it across the field. Rosie, delighted at the chance for play, raced after it.
“Not necessarily photography. My mother encouraged creativity in general. But she was often distracted or absorbed in her own work, so she’d set me in the corner with a pot of paint or colored pencils and leave me to it.”
“How old were you? That sounds like it could cause quite a mess.”
“Aye, I did. But she never yelled at me for that. So long as I was expressing myself, Mam was fine with what I created. My da struggled with it for a while before finally giving up and agreeing that so long as I was in the studio, I could make any mess of it I’d like.”
“And how did that lead to a camera?”
“Well,” Kira said, slanting a look up at Brogan, “it has to do with my abilities, really.”
“I’m listening.” Brogan gave her a small smile of encouragement.
“I would draw people – stick figures, really – when I was younger, and they were always surrounded in bubbles of color. It was there my Mam picked up on my ability to see auras. One day she had left a camera in the studio and young me thought maybe the camera would catch the auras I could see. I wasn’t entirely aware at the time that I was seeing something most others can’t. Imagine my disappointment when the film came back with no colors around people.”
“I can imagine.”
“But something else was born of that disappointment. Instead of letting me wallow in a temper, my Mam sat down with me and we went through each photo. She talked to me about angles and lighting. We compared the moods of each photo and discussed how different ones told a different story. I was transfixed. It was the first time something had really gotten its hooks into me instead of me just playing with a pot of paint.”
“How old were you?”
“I was nine. I kept asking my Mam to use the camera, and soon they realized how serious I was about learning about photography. My father brought heaps of books home from the library for me, and for Christmas that year I had my first camera of my own. While the rest of the girls at school were playing with dolls, I was off tromping through the fields taking photos of bugs and flowers.”
“I can relate to that. I didn’t really fit in with the other kids either.”
“I wouldn’t say I ‘didn’t fit in’ so much as I just chose to follow what excited me. I had friends, and I was – well, am – lucky to have wonderful parents who support