wishing you a moment of magic in which you can see that this is so.

i can’t remember a time when i wasn’t taking pictures.

to be fair, i only remember snippets of life before third grade, but after that, i remember a camera. it was a thin blue rectangle from fisher price with a splash of yellow, a black shutter button, and an attached flash.

the other day, i asked my mom how old i was when i got my first camera.

she said i was seven.

i am thirty-seven years old, so i have been taking pictures for three decades.

and yet, somewhere on my computer, i have a draft of a story in which i found myself bouncing on my rebounder while crying and repeating over and over again, “but i don’t want to be a photographer!”

when i followed the thread of that cry, this is where it led me.

during all those years i was taking pictures of the world around me, i wasn’t really taking pictures at all.

i was trying to hold onto the vision of the world i wanted to live in – a world of beauty, of possibility, of joy, of radiance, of love, of wonder – in the only way i knew how.

as you know, i grew up here.

after college, i ran away. far away.

i said it was because i was cold, and i wanted to be warm, but that wasn’t really it at all.

i ran away to escape the life i thought i would have if i stayed.

it was a life that didn’t seem like me at all.

what i really wanted, even though i didn’t know it then, was to be happy.

even if i didn’t think it was possible.

even if i didn’t know how.

but i am a seeker.

and sometimes, what you are seeking will find you, even if the journey is long & winding & arduous, and often makes no sense at all.

as i drove east, one of the things i wondered was this: will i be able to be me, in a place where i was never really me at all.

it turns out that returning to the place you ran away from, even after finding yourself, is challenging + illuminating + healing.

and if you are in any part of that journey – in the wanting to run away, in the running away, in the being gone, in the returning – i am sending you so much love.

i just read the loveliest post from photographer~writer~soul-searcher fiona on catching the small joys and letting them radiate out into life.

it inspired me to begin a new journal, and aligns with what i think about when i think about beauty.

for now, some recent moments of joy + beauty.

shared + tear-filled laughter.

spotting a snow rabbit with twig-whiskers on top of a giant snowbank.

peeling apples for crumble and watching the long curly red apple peels fall into the garbage.

the pale-pink sky at sunrise.

the way atlas appropriates the process of towel-drying for his own pleasure by sticking his head into the towel over and over so i’ll continue to rub his head.

an unexpected + delightful voicemail.

handing a pile of colorful + cheerful postcards to the mailman.

do you want to capture your own small moments of joy?

if you feel inspired to share, i would so love to receive them.

“Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest
and let the spirits fly in and out.”

~ Rumi

i renewed my web hosting and i have a heart full of love & appreciation.

for me, for having the courage to be vulnerable.
for you, for your support, appreciation & heart-felt presence.
for life, for the way it encourages me to soften & grow.

a spring thaw allowed my stir-crazy pup to run & smell & explore to his heart’s content. as i watched him, my smile was wide and my heart was full.

he so needed this.

my parting thought today is one of love.

all we really have is this moment.

life is fleeting.
love is forever.
even if it changes in form.

{this photo makes me so happy, even though i don’t know why.}

i stumbled upon a list of inuit words for snow.

the words have meanings like this:

still snow, remembered snow, our children’s snow;
snow that falls in large wet flakes, snow that falls slowly, snow in beards;
blowing snow, baked snow, deep fried snow;
snow at dawn, snow that never reaches the ground, snow that has drifted indoors;
the idea of snow, the snows of yesteryear, quickly accumulating snow;
snow that blinds you, snow that hides the whole village, snow mixed with breath;
partially melted snow, good building snow, blowing snow;
snow sparkling with starlight, snow melting in the spring rain, snow that has been marked by wolves.

snow in the mouth,
snow in the south.

snow, snow, snow.

with that, the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

i will never look at snow in the same way.

there, in the words, lies wonder + magic.

“Where round the bed, whence Achelous springs, That wat’ry Fairies dance in mazy rings.”

~ Homer, Iliad

“The wall is silence, the grass is sleep,
Tall trees of peace their vigil keep,
And the Fairy of Dreams with moth-wings furled.
Plays soft on her flute to the drowsy world.”

~ Ida Rentoul Outhwaite

“Like legend and myth, magic fades when it is unused — hence all the old tales of elfin kingdoms moving further and further away from our world, or that magical beings require our faith, our belief in their existence, to survive. That is a lie. All they require is our recognition.”

~ Charles de Lint

this is my heart, smiling and waving at you across the miles.

may you know that you are loved.

“Said the river: I am part of holiness. And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.”

~ Mary Oliver

a threshold. a secret door. a swiftly tilting planet.

welcome to 2014!

may the new year bring you joy, pleasure, deep connection, a feeling of being held & supported, and a sense of your incredible being-ness.

in other news.

these photos were taken two days apart: december 30th and today.

i just can’t get over all the white.

i think we are on track for a record snowfall. there are snowbanks that are higher than my head. two days ago, there was probably a foot of snow on the ground by morning. i shoveled for my dad yesterday and it took me two hours.

you can tell that i am not jaded.

my two hours of shoveling felt like thirty minutes.

my dad and brothers did all the shoveling when i was growing up, and my dad still does all the shoveling. when i get the chance to shovel myself, it is a privilege and a pleasure and not a chore. (atlas watches me out the window and i wave at him every time i look in his direction. on zero degree days, he has no interest in joining me outdoors.) also, i find it very gratifying. i love straight lines and order and neatness.

what is your winter like?

i’d love to hear.