i still remember you.

you come to my mind
in what seem like
the most random of moments.

like when i see an image of a space shuttle launch.

i remember
watching a space shuttle
(maybe the challenger?)
on your tiny tv.

or when they play an old michael jackson song on the radio.

i remember
seeing a blank tape
on the shelf
next to the bed.
you had written
michael jackson
on the side of it.
i was a little jealous
and i wondered
whether grama & grampa approved.

or when i eat those sweet & buttery & yellow butterscotch candies.

(except
i haven’t eaten them
in years
so i guess
it’s really when i think of them.)

the funeral home
had
a bowl full.
we were allowed to have
one
every hour.

and sometimes, when i look up at the stars in the sky.

(i always whisper
hello
and wave silently.)

i wonder:
if we are all made
of the same stuff as stars,
do we return there?
and if so,
are you twinkling up above me somewhere?

i wonder:
can you see us?
do you look down on us?
do you know that i am thinking of you?

if you do,
i hope
it makes you smile
to know that
your memory
is forever intertwined in my memory
with space shuttles
and michael jackson
and butterscotch candies
and stars.

i was trying to tease the toy out of his mouth so we could go for a walk, even though i know better.

a couple of weeks ago, the vet called to check on atlas. when i told her that he was still limping, she wanted to put him back in the splint for a week. i said no, but i did agree to a few days of inactivity.

during his inactivity – which, i should mention, he opposed – i asked someone else to watch atlas walk so i could get a second opinion on the limp, just in case i was imagining things.

he figured it out!

while atlas was in the splint, he developed a habit of stomping the splinted foot extra-hard against the ground.

(he has a habit of marching in place so whenever he stood in front of the counter at the pet store, he looked like he was stomping his foot impatiently. it was pretty cute.)

it turned out that the habit stuck. when atlas walked, he was still stomping that foot extra-hard against the ground. as a result, that front leg/shoulder wasn’t moving the same as the other leg/shoulder and it resembled a limp.

boy was i relieved.

we’re still increasing our distance; in another few weeks, life should be back to normal again.

someone asked me for advice on inner beauty. specifically, they wanted to know how to acquire it.

i told her that, in my opinion, inner beauty isn’t something you can (or need to) acquire. it’s a quality of the soul. we already have it. we can’t gain or lose it. it just is.

our real work is to accept and believe and own that.

i felt inspired to offer another round of the world of story. it will start sometime in february.

this is your invitation to join me!

if you feel so inspired, i would love to have you.

once upon a time, there was a little girl, just like you or me.

of course, none of us are exactly alike, and one of the things that was special about this particular little girl was that she had a long fuzzy tail. it looked rather like the tail of a cat.

the little girl loved her tail; she often used it to get people’s attention. her parents and family and friends loved her tail too, especially because they saw how happy it made her.

sometimes, the little girl would use her tail to play a trick on her mother. she would wait until her mother was watching her and then she would wrap her tail around her glass of milk as if she were going to use her tail to pick it up. her mother would rush over, ready to catch the glass. the little girl would smile, remove her tail, and say, “got you!” with a happy giggle.

when the little girl was only a few years old, her parents brought her to the doctor to see if her tail could be removed; they were worried about it affecting her balance. the little girl cried so hard that they told the doctor to never mind, that they didn’t need it removed after all, and they left the office immediately.

as they drove home, the little girl tickled their faces happily with her tail.

you know, it’s kind of funny that her parents worried about her tail affecting her balance because that little girl was the most agile, steady, and surefooted of all her friends. she could walk along the top of a fence with ease and climb trees like a squirrel. i wish i could do both myself.

it is a cacophony of crimson moments, twirling and twinkling in an endless pirouette.

“We do well to find out, each day, gradually, what we love; to put in brackets all the prejudices, pressures, opinions, authorities; to let the experience of beauty come to us; and to receive it in all its intensity and truth, without anyone having to tell us what we must like or not; to have the courage to say what touches us – if not to others, at least to ourselves.”

– Piero Ferrucci, in Beauty and the Soul

dogs make such good adventure buddies. they don’t mind tromping through snow-covered bushes and brambles so you can take pictures of some weeds you spotted in a field. in fact, they are probably leading the way. plus, they look awfully cute with snow on their nose.

i had the best saturday morning.

i put fresh bird seed on my patio when i woke up – after forgetting about it for a week or so. the squirrels and some tiny birds came to visit immediately.

a short while later, i was standing in my kitchen making toast when i heard what sounded like an entire flock of birds chirping outside. i was sure that wasn’t possible and it was just one loud bird but i looked up anyway – i can see out the window from the kitchen – and an entire flock of tiny birds, easily 50 or more, flew up out of the bushes and into the trees in a beautiful arc. it looked like the flocks of birds that i often see while driving, where it looks like they’re all dancing in unison. my jaw dropped; it was so amazing.

i looked out at the birds on the patio a bit later only to see a varied thrush. it has a slate-grey and orange pattern and is such a pretty bird. it showed up one day a few months ago and i have been watching for it ever since (partly because i wanted to find out what kind of bird it was – this time i figured it out because i looked it up on my phone while i was looking at it).

i have decided to name the thrush sophie, even though i suspect she is a he.

i took atlas and my camera on an urban photo walk last week. by the time it was almost over, i was feeling very sad and discouraged.

i hadn’t been inspired. at all.

the few times i took photos, they felt contrived. i could tell that i was forcing myself to take photos instead of following what i was drawn to. mostly because i couldn’t understand why i wasn’t drawn to anything. that never happens! even worse, i didn’t like any of the images. at all.

i was pretty sure that my lifelong love affair with photography was over and that i would never again take another photo that i loved.

(possibly i am a tad dramatic.)

a few steps later, i saw a silver chair on the sidewalk with holes in the seat; i saw the sunlight peeking over the buildings to the right of me; and i wondered what would happen if i captured the light through the holes in the chair.

so i did. then i looked at my images and clapped with glee. i even have a series that i am pretty sure is an ode to an artist of the paintbrush, if i could just decide which artist.

all of which is just to say: if you find yourself similarly uninspired, do not despair. i feel quite sure that inspiration will return. possibly when you least expect it.