“Some of us are archetypal late bloomers. And sometimes we have the most interesting stories of them all.”
—Annie Wright, Relational Trauma Therapist
Terracotta | Pumpkins
I spent the morning in gardens and fields, shoes muddy, knees damp.
I vowed no more pumpkin pictures and then changed my mind when I saw the field of less-than-perfect pumpkins.
Walking around the gardens, I couldn’t see anything differently. Finally I asked the gardener if I could walk inside the shed and there they were. Terracotta pots stacked, bathed in a swath of light in the dark shed, waiting for me.
There is a universal truth that we suddenly experience clarifying gratitude when we realize that the things and people we love may be taken away at any time. More and more, I see that documenting my home is fraught with suspicion. The days of freely taking pictures seem long gone. I always ask for permission. I choose carefully where I aim my camera. But in this field, in this garden, I am welcome and photography is encouraged. I feel the freedom of full expression.
Even if if the day comes where this hobby is set aside for one reason or another, the carousel of slides in my mind will comfort me.
Morning Light | Early Autumn
I was on my way to physical therapy when the receptionist called to let me know they had to cancel my appointment for today. I decided to make the best of the day, stopping to take pictures along roads I hadn’t explored in a long while.
It’s a hard truth, and really not something I like to discuss in this space. I live with way too much pain these days. I try not to focus on pain, try not to let it define me. But some days are a struggle. And if I am honest, I am afraid that my body will prevent me from doing the things I love, like photography.