I lie down
on the lake …
Hot languid light:
at my back, and
a face full of sky — cielo.
See that blue, though —
a broken-open husk
No place to be.
Nothing to say.
Two palmfuls of cloud…
Let’s just lie here
and be still. ❤
I am learning, slowly, to let go…
To know when to let a thing be…
I spent the weekend at my husband’s family home on Potomac Creek. As always, I whiled the hours scuffing up and down the peninsula with my camera, taking in the way the light slicked the water in more colors than I can name:
Sitting here now, in front of my laptop, I’m resisting the urge to edit and perfect. Instead, I’m accepting these images the way they are — believing that sometimes, a thing is exactly as beautiful as it ought to be, without my meddling hands getting in the middle of it.
I am learning that this is true of myself, and true of those I love, and true of those I’m not sure how to love…
Oh, God, teach me: we’re all a little more magical than we know. ❤
…I mean really seen it — not just in passing, but with purpose? Because whether you notice it or not, it unrolls itself for you every day — your own private gallery, right there above your head.
(All these images, by the way, are perfectly unedited — which should say something.)
On our recent road trip to Florida, we drove and drove, the road slipping beneath us. While my husband listened to Serial, I got out my DSLR, pressed the lens close to the passenger window and took shot after shot of passing clouds. I did this for hundreds of miles — more than a thousand miles, in fact. If my husband thought this was crazy, he didn’t say so. He just turned up the radio and ignored the shutter banging away in his ear. (He’s patient like that.)
Meanwhile, I watched bands of blue darken to salmon and lavender and gold, and I thought about all the good gifts this world has to give us — like this quiet light show, performing over and over again without any presumption of an audience. Every minute a new show, invented and reinvented, so you never see the same sky twice.
You don’t have to pay for a ticket to watch it…
You don’t have to live in a good school district…
You don’t need a proper education or title or special skill …
You just need eyes in your head and a heart to see, and I’ll tell you — even if you don’t have those, you could sit down beside me and I’d try to speak the Sunset in words you could understand… I really would.
Which I guess is what I’m always trying to do.
I hope you go out and marvel at the sky today, if only for a moment. ❤