“Mostly people just wanted me to listen to their story.” ~ Bonnie Berry She called me from Love’s truck stop. We wound up in a retired postal worker’s field of donkeys. And that’s what happened on an afternoon in Texas.
{ category archives } musings
I saw a place from the corner of my eye. I was heading to elsewhere, late. After elsewhere I found it again, tucked along a lonesome frontage road. Late again to the next elsewhere, I heard the debate of my familiar internal committee members. I ignored them. I listened instead to the words of my…
“The subject matter is so much more important than the photographer.” ~ Gordon Parks A very long time ago I was a photography student at Western Kentucky University. I met a teacher named Dave Labelle. This teacher taught me of compassion and composition. He taught me to tell stories about people. He challenged every notion…
Last snowflakes melted this weekend. Time has moved to spring. I remember one snowy day, stabbing cold fingers, music accompanying my photo delight, couchy snowdrifts and tiny cling on ice balls in dog fur. I played with how I see. Do I focus on the flakes and watch each in sharp relief? Do I look…
I am feeling particularly nostalgic this evening… Maybe it’s the snow and the soft cloudy days nestling me… Maybe it’s my delayed reaction to a new year, a chance to trace my time and reorient my compass… Maybe I’m savoring a sense of completion… Maybe and most likely, I’m simply grateful. I hear my husband…
“We see things as we are.” ~Anaïs Nin I wrote about the Foundation Workshop a year ago when I attended as a team leader. Heading to Dallas is somewhat of a yearly pilgrimage. Tomorrow I head back to Texas and meet a new team of photographers. The five day photography immersion experience started by Huy…
Last light touches the pink petunias in the window box. We hold hands. It’s dinnertime. We ready for our ritual feast with a quick scan of the table. Ketchup…Check. A1 sauce…Check. Steak knives…Check. Each night we choose our blessing style, a song, take-turns spoken grace or silence. Tonight we choose a song. They sing low….
On the longest day of the year, there’s a party…music, children, hula hoops, neighbors, friends and cobbler. Each cobbler is a three hour process. She makes two, one with sour cherries picked from the tree in her front yard, the other with rhubarb from the farmer’s market. I am entranced by the child in the…
Miss Jenny Wren fluffs her feathers. She hunkers down. She makes a home. Four tiny eggs nestle within the curve of the wreath on my studio door. Her soft belly coaxes four new lives. She has knitted with twigs and stray string scraps. She has created a refuge tucked under the words faith, hope and…
It’s spring. I’m cleaning, opening windows, recycling old stuff, tossing, reorganizing, polishing, moving furniture, finding treasures. This daylight savings time ritual syncs with the eruption of a wee brave crocus and tiny white snowdrops. In the melee, I find a treasure, a perfect distraction from domestic inclinations. It’s a picture of my sister and me…
I saw a miracle on Tuesday, January 20, 2009. I saw a world transform. I saw courage beyond the telling. I witnessed living breathing hope. I saw the mystery of the human spirit soar and make itself visible. I saw my fear and discarded ideals burn away. I saw my hope return. Humility. Gratitude Mindfulness….