Fifteen years ago, I took a summer vacation in Lecce in southern Italy. After climbing up a hill for a beautiful 1 of the blue sea, white buildings and green olive trees, 1 2 to catch my breath and then positioned myself to take the 3 photo of this landscape.
4 , just as I took out my camera, a woman 5 from behind, and planted herself right 6 my view. Like me, this woman was here to stop, sigh and 7 the view.
8 as I was, after about 15 minutes, I grew frustrated. Was it too much to ask her to 9 so I could take just one picture of the 10 ? Sure, I could have asked her, but something 11 me from doing so. She seemed so content in her observation. I didn't want to 12 that.
Another 15 minutes passed and I grew 13. The woman was still there. I 14 to take the photo anyway. And now when I look at it, I think her 15 in the photo is what makes the image interesting. The landscape, beautiful on its own, somehow comes to 16 and breathes because this woman is 17 with it.
This 18, with the unique beauty that unfolded before me and that woman who “ruined” it, now hangs on a wall in my bedroom. In some ways, she lives in my house. Perhaps we all 19 in each other's spaces. Perhaps this is what photos are for: to remind us that we all appreciate 20 , that we all share a common desire for pleasure, for connection, for something that is greater than us.
