Learning Photography from my Brother

Once upon a time there lived a young girl named Kate. Her mother and father owned this house, far away in the woods. While during the day working hard at the wood factory, the two parents (let's call them Daryl and Carol) have come to highly appreciate the little time they've got to spend with their little girl.

To make the most of it, Kate's bed time story became the immutable pretext for the parents to have the family reunited. Their favorite was the story of Hansel and Gretel.

Carol loved to tell the part where the two kids found a small house in the woods, a house that, to their surprise, turned out to be 100% made of caky.

Daryl, a man of rights and principles, preferred telling the episode of burning the witch.

Only you see, little Kate hated this little arrangement. It was not that she approved the witch's behavior, but she couldn't stand hearing time after time all the sordid details about her incineration. Every night she hoped her father would receive the good thought and spare her of this part of the tale.

But dads that can read the thoughts of their little girls aren't invented to this day. And Kate feared it wouldn't be nice of her to refuse the bed time story. Obviously, good, respectful girls don't do such things.

Time passed by. Until the day little Kate grew big, Hansel and Gretel got to be a considerable source of nightmares.

It was one of those chilly autumn evenings, when I was sitting on one side of the bed, chatting a bit with Nicole, as if there was nothing in the world we should care about. Maybe we were having something to drink but I couldn't say for sure. Those times we were still keeping the good habit of listening to bed time stories at night, on my old pick-up.

As I was saying, that night, quite unexpectedly, I heard Nicole asking several times: "Where are the squirrels?" You know, I am quite used to unusual questions that kids like so much to ask, such as: "Why do houses live outside?", "Who holds the clouds in the sky?" or "Where does the itching go when we scratch it?"

But Nicole's question was not the kind waiting for a theoretical explanation, to which I could shake my head in a doubtful and seemingly intelligent way. The question strived for an answer, and a straight, documented one. I dared look her in the eyes, demanding for more details, only to find out that she was asleep.

When did she fall so fast? Why didn't I notice it? And how dared she let me speak by myself for God knows how long? I soon was consoled with the thought that she didn't know herself the answers and I blamed the reddish creatures.

Since that evening, in our house there is a saying, when somebody feels sleepy, that he or she is being visited by the squirrels.



If you want to photograph them, I suggest you wake up one sunny morning, when the light in our house is warm and kind of yellow. Don't freak out if the alarm clock starts ringing... It has to ring at least three times to scare them all away.


Even when Nicole seems wide awake, a few ones dare not to go. You can hear them squeaking underneath the blanket. So go ahead, shoot straight at them. In this particular case I was more after Nicole's smile, but however... there's still a squirrel mood in the picture.

And if you really want good shots of them, and you suffer from shortsightedness, like I do, I suggest you wear your glasses :-).