7.20.2016

The I's



I am a wanderer. I have always been. 

I covet being alone, or with a very select few. I always have.

My bones were shaped in the same way shells are made: washed over and over and over by waves and currents and tides. I am at home in the ocean, beneath the water. I surface and lick my lips. The crunch of salt, the brine in my hair, water dripping from my eyelashes is enough and enough and enough. 

If I could twist my wrist and fan out my soul it would be the pale coral of the hibiscus, the heavenly white of the plumeria, the waxy green-brown leaves of the magnolia. And these days there is the sharp-soft outline of the agave, the tease of the cactus's stark beauty. 

If I could grab my spirit and hold on for flight it would be on the wings of the swallowed-tail kite, the soft hollow between the eyes of the hawk, the underbelly of the owl, the grace of the blue heron.

I am a woman of water. I ache for the moon. I am an open road.


fill your lungs up 
with life and
repeat after me:

i am alive

i am alive

i am alive.


It's terribly easy to forget who you are. 

6.23.2016










I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you're going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out and let your very bones unhinge and scatter, loosened over fields, over fields and woods, lightly, thoughtless, from any height at all, from as high as eagles. 

-Annie Dillard, The Abundance

Photos from a recent trip to Southern California.

4.18.2016



The thing about light is that it really isn't yours; it's what you gather and shine back. And it gets more power from reflectiveness; if you sit still and take it in, it fills your cup, and then you can give it off yourself. So I sat still.  

-Anne Lamott