A Glimpse of Her

Lena adjusted the strap of her camera bag as she wandered through the city streets, the familiar weight of her camera swinging lightly by her side. It had become a ritual—these afternoon strolls through different city corners, seeking moments to capture. The sun was low in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the pavement. A warm breeze ruffled her dark curls, and the sounds of the city hummed in her ears—the distant honking of cars, the murmur of voices, and the occasional trill of a bird overhead.

There was a certain energy in the city today, an underlying buzz that Lena couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the shift of the seasons, the in-between moment when summer begins to give way to fall. Or maybe it was something more elusive that she couldn't yet identify.

She paused for a moment, lifting her camera to her eye. Across the street, a young couple sat on the steps of a café, laughing softly. Lena smiled to herself as she snapped a photo, capturing the tender, fleeting moment between them. That was what she loved most about photography—the ability to freeze time, to capture something that would otherwise be lost.

She moved on, scanning the streets for her next subject. Her eyes landed on a street vendor pushing a cart filled with brightly colored flowers. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the shutter button, feeling the familiar twinge of nostalgia rise in her chest. The flowers reminded her of her grandmother.

It had been five years since Grandma Loretta passed away, but Lena still felt the ache of her absence. Loretta had been her guiding light, who nurtured her creativity and gifted her the first camera she ever owned. The summers they spent together at Grandma Loretta's old house in Memphis were etched deeply in Lena's memory, like a series of warm, sunlit photographs she could never forget. Even now, the smell of lavender or the sound of an old vinyl record playing could take her back to those moments with startling clarity.

Lena lowered her camera and exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of that nostalgia settle over her like a familiar blanket. She missed her grandmother more than words could express. And though she knew time was supposed to heal all wounds, it felt like this one would never fully close.

Still, she had her photography, and in some small way, that kept her connected to her grandmother. Every shot she took felt like a tribute, a way of saying, "Look at the world the way you taught me to see it."

Lena's thoughts drifted back to her summers with Grandma Loretta. Lena grew up in the city, but her grandmother's house in Memphis had always felt like home. It was more than just the structure—an old, red-brick house nestled in a quiet neighborhood—it was the energy of the place, the soul that filled every room. The wide front porch was where Lena and Grandma Loretta spent countless afternoons sipping sweet tea and listening to the deep hum of cicadas in the humid air.

Memphis had a rhythm of its own. The city, steeped in music and history, had always felt alive to Lena. And it was her grandmother, Loretta, who had taught her to appreciate that rhythm. Loretta was a storyteller at heart, and every story she told seemed to come to life, whether it was about the time she snuck into a juke joint on Beale Street or how she'd seen B.B. King play live when she was barely out of high school. Her words had magic, and every story felt like a lesson.

Loretta had lived through so much yet carried herself gracefully, always finding beauty in the simplest things. Lena admired that strength and tried to capture it in her own work. Every photo was like a small piece of her grandmother's wisdom preserved through the lens.

As Lena walked, snapping photos of street musicians, children chasing bubbles, and a man feeding pigeons, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was different today. There was an odd sense of anticipation in the air, a subtle shift that made her feel like she were on the edge of something important.