Runaways

By Andrea Zepeda

In the confines of my home, I fantasized about what lay ahead among the mountains and beyond the range. As a child, from my kitchen window, I’d gaze at the mere peak of a mountain on which a home sat on top of it, porch light always on. Lost in daydreams, I’d picture myself as a thing of the woods, roaming free in the mountains, running with the wolves, and taking my best friend with me. The home would soon be ours, with the porch light always on, open to any other runaways.

As I grew older, I could no longer be held in my home. I became disillusioned with the world, and my daydreams were proved wrong. The home on the mountain wasn’t even a home; it was just the end of a ski lift. The other side of the range was just another town, not whatever my imagination had pictured. However, I refused to accept my reality, or that there was truly no magic left in the world. Upon getting my driver’s license, I drove away from home just to be in the mountains and feel that magic again. And I found it. I found it in the mountains, my car, and my friends who dreamt the same dreams.

These photographs are an ode to the wonder and imagination we’re often forced to dim, and to the power of friendships.