Makin' Miracles by Lin Stepp

as if drawing the fence in the air. “Sometimes I think photography achieves its uniqueness by expressing what is impossible to express in words.”
    Zola licked blueberry syrup off her fingers. “I like the messages and stories your photographs portray, Spencer. You’re very good at what you do.”
    â€œThank you.” He stretched his shoulders back, obviously tired. “Do you mind stopping by the gallery with me, Zola? I’d like to leave my photos with Clark—so he can begin to look through the images. He’s an expert on the computer and has an eye for just which shots will make the best print images.”
    He dug money out of his pocket for the tip. “I often let him go through the images to give me his take and then I go through them on my own later, comparing my ideas with his. When Clark and I get it down to the wire and decide on a handful of shots, then Aston has this incredible knack of knowing which images will sell. Sometimes what is the best art and what is the best image to sell are two totally different things.”
    Zola had never thought about photography as a group process. “The three of you make a good team.”
    â€œWe do. That’s true.” He got up, dropped the tip on the table, and picked up their breakfast ticket before reaching out a hand to help Zola from her chair.
    It dawned on Zola then that Spencer was consistently a gentleman in this way. He opened car doors, took her elbow crossing a street, helped her up and down from her seat.
    She looked at him as she took his hand. “You have good manners.”
    He grinned at her. “It’s the Southern gentleman bred into me. My sister Rita would say it’s my good Southern Chatsworth blood showing.”
    Zola noticed a warm tone when Spencer mentioned Rita’s name. “You’re fond of your sister?”
    His face darkened. “We were close once. When we were small.”
    Zola left the subject wisely alone then. Spencer would tell her about his life one day when he was ready.
    At the gallery, Spencer enthusiastically shared the adventures of his morning photo shoot with Aston and Clark. Zola wandered around the well-lit gallery spaces studying Spencer’s work. She hadn’t been in the gallery in several months, and she saw the pictures with new eyes now that she knew the photographer.
    Clark soon went into the back office to work on the computer, and Spencer and Aston walked over to where Zola stood, observing a close-up photo of a purple aster with a bee on it.
    She pointed to the framed photo. “Did you know honey bees, like this one in your photograph, often travel four miles to collect pollen and nectar from flowers and blossoms to make honey?”
    Aston grinned. “That’s a huge distance for a little bee. Wonder if they take the weekends off or ever take a rest?”
    â€œActually, they do rest some days.” Zola turned to him with a smile. “They also take a break on rainy days from collecting.”
    Aston laughed with a hearty sound. “So when we’re moaning over a rainy day, the bee guys are having a happy dance for getting a day off.”
    â€œI guess so.” Zola liked Aston. He was an easy, comfortable black man, wonderful with the public and very competent and smart. Spencer was lucky to have him.
    Aston gave her a small hug now. “It’s good to see you again, Zola Devon. It’s been a long time.”
    â€œYes, it has.”
    He stepped back, still holding her hand affectionately in his. “I’d have invited you and Spencer to go to lunch with me but Spencer tells me you just finished a late breakfast.”
    â€œWe did. Our morning got rather busy and we were late eating.”
    Aston smiled. “So I heard.” He shook his head then. “I’m envious of Spencer getting a whole morning to himself with a beautiful woman. I’d like to have someone special to be taking to