My husband and I went walking along the Hudson River path this afternoon, strolling, taking pictures, stopping under trees, sitting on rocks to talk, then walking some more. He took this photo of me, and although I generally dislike photos of myself, for some reason I embrace this one, lines around the eyes, fullness of the face, grey at the temples, all of it. He is the only person who is able to take pictures of me that I don't immediately want to burn. I think it's because he sees me with generous eyes, and gives that back to me on film. He wouldn't let me take his portrait in return, though. He kept turning away, putting his hand in front of the lens, teasing me with funny faces, even when I reminded him that I would be looking through the lens with loving eyes. I sure would. But as you can see, no pictures of him, yet.
