I’ve found the greatest satisfaction comes from the simplest pleasures.
I am noticing little things.
And spending a lot of time outside.
Nearly chewed alive by mosquitoes.
Covered in sunscreen.
Welcomed by the gardener who introduces me to anemones.
Enjoying my picnic lunch in the empty playground.
Feeling apprehensive about what a return to normal might mean.

 

I am always keeping my eye out for ways I might use this space to help me grow and learn.

Thanks to fellow photographer/artist Stephanie Garstin for introducing me to the concept of a “Digital Garden” in her Friday Notes || No.7.

“An open collection of notes, resources, sketches, and explorations I'm currently cultivating.” —Maggie Appleton

While I do share my writing, photos, films, and other assorted bits and pieces on my personal blog, I write it mostly as a record of my own life and thoughts rather than as an exercise in content marketing or speaking to an audience. It's my own little patch on the web and I really enjoy tending to it. Occasionally other people stumble upon it and read the odd post or two, but aside from my tutorials I don't get a lot of traffic and I'm okay with that. —Stephanie Garstin

And this from MIT Technology Review:

Tom Critchlow, a consultant who has been cultivating his digital garden for years, spells out the main difference between old-school blogging and digital gardening. “With blogging, you’re talking to a large audience,” he says. “With digital gardening, you’re talking to yourself. You focus on what you want to cultivate over time.”

I’m following the links, reading and researching this concept of a digital garden, which seems as though it might align well with my creative vision. I know that the coding required for this format is outside of my skill set, but I think I can pull elements of the digital garden concept to this space in small ways. I especially like the idea of adding a virtual bookshelf/library with reviews.

 

HOW JOY WORKS

You could not stop it
if you tried—
how this blessing
begins to sing
every time it sees
your face,
how it turns itself
in wonder
merely at the mention
of your name.

It is simply
how joy works,
going out to you
when you least expect,
running up to meet you
when you had not thought
to ask.

—Jan Richardson

 
 

. . . our task is both simple and extremely difficult. Our task is to remain patient and vigilant and to not lose heart — for we are the destination. We are the portals from which the idea explodes, forced forth by its yearning to arrive. We are the revelators, the living instruments through which the idea announces itself — the flourishing and the blooming — but we are also the waiting and the wondering and the worrying. We are all of these things . . . —Nick Cave, The Red Hand Files