Riley

Arthur’s Seat, Edinburgh.

You hike with purpose, lungs full of that cold, wild Scottish air. At the top, the city spreads out beneath you like an old map, and the sun performs its slow trick - turning clouds to fire, casting shadows that stretch across centuries. 

At the top of the cliff face I heard a voice. 

Riley and her mother. US accents in the Scottish wind, unsure feet near the cliff’s edge. 

Riley wanted a photo, but her mum was uneasy. I offered to take it. She agreed. Trust given, a picture taken, a moment frozen. 

Not ten minutes earlier, I was chasing light and silhouette. I offered again. 

A cinematic shot. She says yes again. 

And there it is, the kind of footage you can’t plan. 

It breathes.

A small connection, held in the frame.

It turns out even better than either of us expected. We talk for a bit.  

She’s just moved to London, her mother’s visiting for the first time. 

They’re happy. And I’m happy to have been there. 

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