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While I stood covered in my blanket of sunshine, a hummingbird caught my attention as he fluttered by and stopped to hover over a bright flower, drawing his nectar. He ignored me, as he drank the sweetness he desired and I envied his ability to drink what he craved without consequences. While I foolishly stood envying the hummingbird, I missed the shot, and was busy mentally kicking myself when something different caught my attention.
I was captivated by a singing voice, accompanied by a strumming guitar, and I wanted a closer listen. I was drawn like a sailor to the siren of the sea and I followed the source of the beautiful sound, toward the front of the house. I rounded the corner of the house slowly, in search of the voice and its owner, and stole a glance of her from where I hid.
She sat on the edge of a patio chair on the front porch and sang softly while she gently strummed an old, worn guitar. Her face was lowered, watching her fingers caress the strings of her guitar. Long layers of dark waves fell forward, creating a veil, preventing me from seeing her face.
I remained just out of sight, as I listened to her angelic voice. The tempo was slow, her lyrics sincere, and I saw she believed what she was singing as it radiated from her heart.
I knew the urge was wrong, but I was powerless to stop myself as I raised my camera for a closer view. I focused in on her for a better view, then without thinking, I photographed her without her knowledge or permission. I watched and waited for her to lift her chin, allowing me to see the view I craved.
While she sang, I was discovered by a pair of fluttering butterflies and was reminded of a time in my past. As if I had stepped back in time more than twenty years, the pair stopped briefly, landing on my arm. The duo left quickly and whirled in circles, chasing one another, until they reached the singing woman.
I was shameless as I photographed them fluttering leisurely around her while they waltzed to her song. They tired of their waltz and came to rest on her left shoulder and I stole that shot as well. After going unnoticed by the woman, they departed on their way.
I remained still and unseen while I wondered if this Chansey. If so, I had done it again, and robbed her of her private moments, making me a creep and a thief. I should have left because any decent person would salvage her remaining privacy. I willed my feet to walk, but they were unwilling to obey. There would never be another debate regarding the existence of my conscience because I heard it screaming at me loud and clear. As much as I wanted to give her this private moment, I found I was unable to tear myself away from her voice.
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