Friday, September 23, 2011

Farewell Summer




farewell summer

Farewell summer....

I'll miss your bright colors
and green leaves
and long days
and bare feet
and bare legs.
I'll miss the tomatoes
from the garden
and the color of the grass
and the sound of kids
in the swimming pool.



...

Hello autumn.
It is so good to see you again.

I can't wait to enjoy
your cool breezes
and campfires
and backyard tent camping.
I love having morning coffee on the porch
wrapped in a sweater to keep me warm.
I like thinking of the scarves
I'm planning to buy
and even the ones I'm planning to make
and old jeans to pull on again
and comfy socks and shoes
and pumpkins
and apples
and cocoa.

I'm so glad you're finally here.
You're my favorite, you know.

09 23 11_2824

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

09 14 11_2806


More than a month has passed since I last made a post here. It's funny how time moves so quickly, never hesitating for even one second. Many blog posts that should have appeared here or at least on paper just remain jumbled in my mind and for some reason I can hardly sort them.  Words aren't the only things jumbled these days...thoughts, emotions, and even feelings are tossed around.

I sometimes wonder if my clock is running short on time even though I'm certain that I have the same number of minutes in my day as everyone else.  Am I thinking myself short of time....thinking more than doing?  I've come to realize a few things lately that would most likely win me the award for World's Best Procrastinator and I'm really sick about it.  Am I just at a point in life where I'm finally tired - of the constant run-around, the to-do list that regenerates itself every day without fail, the worries and fears that invade every moment they can, the syndrome known as "rat-on-a-wheel?"


09 14 11_2809
{A really large 20x24 print of one of my photos published by Shutter Sisters, finally framed and hung...I love it.}


I really dislike it when I get stuck in these ruts with my mind feeling blank and my joy needing a jump start every day.  Maybe this all translates into symptoms of overwhelm.  Maybe a break is what is necessary to clean the slate and to allow all my thoughts and feelings and words to take root again.  Just maybe, with the exit of summer by next week's end and the entrance of my favorite season (and cooperative weather), my own season of renewal will begin as well.  The ebb and flow of life it is.

I hate that this post has such a down feeling to it so far.  I didn't intend on it sounding that way and really intended to do a sort of list-post that  has seemingly become my normal over the course of the past months.  The list style posts are easy, manageable when you really don't feel like saying much else, or are just going along with the old saying of "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all..."  But no matter how many times I've tried to type out words lately, they have all sounded the same.  So I'm giving them their escape here.

I'll be back soon with more uplifting subjects like summer vacation from last month, lots of photos, and hopefully a newly developed roll of film.


edited to add this beautiful poem from Maya Stein, found here.

Believe

Maybe the camera crew is at someone else’s house,
a spotlight haloing over another’s fleshy story.
Maybe the mailman is delivering the good news
to your neighbor, or a different city entirely,
and you come home to a rash of catalogues,
the second notice for a doctor’s bill, a plea
from the do-gooders for whatever you can spare.

Maybe you haven’t cleaned your kitchen floor in weeks,
forgotten to nourish the front garden, spilled too much
coffee in your car, weaving through traffic.
Maybe you are 10 pounds heavier than last year.
Maybe your skin is betraying your age.
Maybe winter is ravaging your heart.

Maybe you are afraid, or lonely, or furious, or wanting out
of every commitment you entered with such vigor and trust.
Maybe you’ve bitten your nails down to the quick,
chosen your meals badly, ignored the advice of those
who know you best. Maybe you are stubborn as a toddler.

Maybe you are clumsy or foolish or hasty or reckless.
Maybe you haven’t read all the books you’re supposed to.
Maybe your handwriting is still illegible after all these years.
Maybe you spent too much on a pair of shoes you didn’t need.
Maybe you left the window open and the rain ruined the cake.
Maybe you’ve destroyed everything you’ve ever wanted to save.
Still.
If anything, believe in your own strange loveliness.

How your body, even as it stumbles, angles for light.
The way you hold a dandelion with such yearning and tenderness,
the whole world stops spinning.