The holiday season brings with it joy and memory making, along with some pain. I allow myself to feel all the emotions, without apology. I think about closed doors and windows and how I am making a cautious effort to open some of them a crack, knowing it all might backfire.
But also aware time is ticking.
“The years go by, we find our doors and windows. Some are always open, some never were.”
― Naomi Shihab Nye, Transfer
"Play gives children a chance to practice what they are learning...They have to play with what they know to be true in order to find out more, and then they can use what they learn in new forms of play."
- Fred Rogers
Snow has arrived at the Brio Village. Trucks got stuck, snow was carried off in the back of a dump truck, and haphazard snowman were constructed. All because the dog had finally ripped out all the stuffing to one of his toys and when I picked it up while vacuuming, I dropped it onto the Brio table and walked away.
I watch him play, listening as he talks his way through what is going on, marveling at his imagination and so thankful I have a front row seat to these moments.
In a way I have come full circle. Back to what drew me to photography in the first place and that need go beyond the snapshots of motherhood. I move to scenes and objects that alight something inside of me. I am not looking for anything fancy, nor am I looking for perfection, but rather learning once more to pay attenion. To give myself permission to buy oranges with the leaves intact because I have never seen a real orange on a tree and I am curious about the leaves. To dig a couple of treats out of my pocket to coax this sweet dog to look at me with those eyes and that heart nose just because I want to. To be curious, and to follow those urges I get to run and grab my camera when something quickens inside of me. To be brave and bold and know that I own no explanation to anyone but myself.
I finally see that this is all mine and grasp the possibilities that this revelation holds.
I squat down among the frosted leaves in the front yard as the sun makes its way over the top of our home. The artist has taken care of all the details for me, the texture, the light and the colors. Try as we might, we can’t compete with nature, but I am grateful for this glimpse of what she is capable of, on this beautiful day in November.
There is beauty in both of these photos.
One a bit messy and overloaded, one with a clearer vision.
I don’t have a preference as to which photo speaks to me more vividly.
I only know I was drawn to take both.
There will be changes and maybe periods of silence, but I felt a bit lost without this space.
I don’t claim to fully have a vision yet, but maybe that is okay.
I fear that this space, this blog is a bit like my little ginkgo, a living fossil that is just hanging on. And while my ginkgo will burst to life again come spring, I am not sure this space will. I have been blogging now for twenty years and I think I might be done.
For now I am going to take a bit of a break for month or so, to see how it feels.
I will keep you posted.
I read somewhere that the ginkgo tree will drop its leaves all at once, overnight. Mine has been shedding its bright, yellow leaves over the past few days, and this morning there were a few stragglers hanging on the tree, but most were on the ground.
The Ginkgo biloba is one of the oldest living tree species in the world. It's the sole survivor of an ancient group of trees that date back to before dinosaurs roamed the earth.
It’s so ancient, the species is known as a 'living fossil'.
“Every night, before he turned in, he would write in the book. He wrote about things he had done, things he had seen, and thoughts he had had. Sometimes he drew a picture. He always ended by asking himself a question so he would have something to think about while falling asleep.”
― E.B. White, The Trumpet of the Swan
We find a back farm road full of winter birds. They are something to watch when they take off or land. The autumn colors are the perfect backdrop for their beauty.
The kids drop Percy off for a spur of the moment visit while they run out to meet some friends. He and I clean his sandbox trucks off so he can play with them in the house. Later I go to bed thinking about how grateful I am that we made this move three years ago.