Pictures for George

Sometimes Kay took her camera with her. She walked along the trail, stopping every so often to snap a picture for George. A hummingbird. A squirrel suddenly still. Leaves fluttering to rest atop rocks. George would have loved it.

During their first year of marriage, Kay and George had camped nearly every weekend of the summer and fall. It was all new to Kay, who'd never spent much time outdoors and certainly never expected to like it. George changed that. He took her to a scenic state park and cajoled her into hiking a wilderness trail with him. She'd sweated and slipped a few times, catching herself with her hands. She was uncomfortable with the dirt at first. But George said he liked a woman who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, and she'd so desperately wanted to be everything George ever dreamed of in a woman. He told her she was.

Once they had kids, they bought a camper and took them on family holidays in the Smokies and Cumberland Gap. They'd even considered buying a cabin on the lake, but never did. Then the kids were grown and gone. George and Kay had reverted back to their newlywed days, walking in the woods when they could, a little more slowly, enjoying the sights rather than the exertion. They'd even started watching birds and often carried binoculars with them.

Kay didn't have binoculars with her today. Just her camera. She snapped a picture of a flower growing between two tree roots. George would have liked that. In fact, she had a whole album full of sights George would have liked. She sometimes expected to see him out on the path; bending over a log to see who lurked behind it, or looking up into the tall branches of a tree, looking for nests. He would have called to her and pointed, wanting to share the moment with her. Kay obliged, staring into the tree limbs and snapping another picture.