My small, glowing hands held onto the magical little box. Snap! The world freezes for a moment, hanging over the frosted horizon, the faint glimmer of the sea and birds swooping low over their prey. Snap! The bird flies, forever.

I turn the box around, and I hold my short arms out as far as they will allow and I smile, one big toothy smile. Snap! I’m smiling, forever, to myself. Like a mirror.

I was seven when I picked up my first camera. A dusty old Hawkeye I found in my grandmother’s garage. An antique, she said, holding it out to me after I had brought it in wide eyed, its yours.

And it still is. Like the childlike fascination with the mystery of what lies in an image. The magic of capturing something, forever. The lurid feel of your eye pressed up against a lens, seeing the world in your own personal way.

I knew what I wanted to be, without knowing it. And that tiny match flame is still burning behind my eyes, taking a picture with every blink.