Everyday Wonder

on flowers and fearlessness …

I don’t know about you, but I’ve always loved flowers best just before their petals fall … 

  
It’s as if, in the final days of their existence, they decide — at last — to open fearlessly wide, in the most elegant disarray. 

They hide nothing. Hold nothing back …

And then they’re gone.

Today, I’m contemplating the bouquet of white tulips that a dear friend gave me, since they seem to be doing just that:

  
Ah, Lord… Teach me to be that open, always. ❤

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Everyday Wonder

wonderlust…

I don’t know why, but lately my eyes and my heart have been restless.

The old haunts that used to be such good places for snapping photos and dreaming?  The woods?  The river?  The mountain trails I love?  Now they feel worn-out, matted down.  Tracked over by too many footprints.  

Maybe it’s all the change:  in the past year, I’ve built a completely different little universe for myself.  I have new friends, a new career and a great many new goals.  It makes sense that I’d want to point my lens in a different direction, too…  

Pack my camera, buy a ticket to the other side of the world and just disappear.

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But I’m learning, slowly, that sometimes the newness I crave isn’t a matter of place but a matter of focus.  

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Maybe I don’t need a new horizon.

Maybe I just need new eyes.

Maybe I could look at the same old everyday things and, with a little a twist of the lens, see something totally new:

  
  
You, too. ❤

 

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Everyday Wonder

signs of spring …

The green begins slow, like someone waking up after a long nap.

It spreads subtly across the forest at first: the tiniest leaves spangling the understory.

But then the grass on the lawn grows long.

The wood moss puts out furry wands tipped with tiny capsules of new life.

As for me, I go out to the back yard and cut down an armful of forsythia blooms. I bring the long stems inside, and stuff them in my great-grandmother’s blue Ball jars. Suddenly, every corner of our tiny cottage is filled with the color and scent of sunshine, green things, growing things… Life:

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I rest, and say It Is Good.  ❤

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Thoughts in Progress

Speechless

I’ve built my life around words:  planted them like seed, panned for them like gold.  I’ve gone out into green valleys and collected words like rainwater, storing them up for seasons of drought.  

This is what my kind of people do.

But.

There are days when words feel too small for me — a poor, mealy-mouthed language too paltry to say what must be said.  On those days I dance.  I paint.  I reach for my camera.

And lately, I’ve found myself speaking wordless prayers.

So today, I’m praying this:

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I want this, and this, and this:

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I go out into the green world and I ask for what I see — for my soul and for yours.  

For the parts of us too wide and deep for talking.

I sit still, and I say nothing. ❤

 

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Musings

Coming Out of the Quiet

It’s been awhile since you saw my words here — almost a month since my last post.  In real life, I’ve been busy … sometimes even frantic.  But in this space I’ve let the silence fall like a curtain, heavy and thick.

I needed that silence.

On the heels of my last series — Same Body, Second Glance — I felt tired in a way I haven’t before.  I’m not talking about a tiredness that comes from writing a lot, or shooting a lot, or editing a lot.  I’m used to that sort of thing.

I’m talking about an exhaustion that comes from a steady daily output of white-knuckled vulnerability.  Which is a different thing entirely.

Don’t misunderstand me:  I never felt this exhaustion was negative.  It was necessary for me, and good, in the way that exhaustion after a long, hard workout is necessary and good.  But I knew I needed to respond to it.  So I stepped away, and I rested.

And in the meantime, the snows melted, and spring unfolded outside my windows… Lush.  Rainwet.  Green.  The birds returned, waking me at first light with their warbling.  In the afternoons I’d find velvety pink rose petals scattered on the steps to the backyard.  Then there was the scent of it:  turned earth and damp leaves.  Honeysuckle.

I stayed silent.  I photographed nothing.  I drank in the green and, for almost a month, felt no obligation to explain it to anyone.  In this way, I reminded myself that my life was my own…

My story.

My body.

My words.

These things are all mine, to give or to keep as I choose.  They always have been.

And yet, after enjoying them for awhile, I am ready, again, to share them with you.

I suppose I always knew I would be.

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Welcome back, friends.  ❤

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