Early in my artistic journey, macro photography beckoned.
The sharp focus of a water droplet on a flower petal is dramatic and beautiful. There’s something fascinating about the ordinary, something that draws you in to the very simplicity of the subject. Close-up images are compelling, even magical. With all the chaos and hubbub of everyday life, seeing something so simple and plain can be a breath of fresh air. It can help you appreciate what life has in store and allow you to stop, ground yourself, and get ready to jump back into the chaos once again!
I’m writing this letter to thank you for never leaving me, even after all this time, after I went ahead and grew up. Even now – you stay. And I love you, because I need you, and to be able to pretend, and you know me like no one else could.
I feel you close by, just a whisper’s distance, even when life gets overwhelming and my Second Star seems quite far away. You are in my periphery always, and I want you to know that I catch a precious glimpse of you each time you come to visit like the treasured company you are.
Imagine a lush garden in your backyard teeming with growth and abundance — full of life. You grow your own fresh ear of corn you can pick right off the stalk, your children can climb up your apple trees and pick juicy, sweet apples right off the tree, and you can pull crisp cucumbers and squash right off the vine for your supper.
There is something about growing my own food and working in the garden, getting my hands deep into the earth — that makes my spirit come alive. My soul awakens when I grow the very food that will nourish me and my family.
If you’ve ever swam, stood by, lived by, or even flown over an ocean once, you know that deep waters hold a certain divinity. There’s nothing quite like diving into cool ocean water in the early days of June. There’s nothing more lovely than immersing yourself in an underwater aquamarine world teeming with yellow, blue, green, and orange fish whose silences are only punctuated by soundless bubbles and the hush of waves washing in above the surface. And after hours or even minutes swimming through the salt water, you feel more clean, sane, and free than you did on land.
That’s why there’s nothing quite like swimming in open water.
I can clearly remember the day I recited a Maya Angelou poem in front of my church. I was a young girl, and had been assigned to read “Still I Rise” as a part of a summer camp program. I had always been a shy child who feared any unwanted attention. Having to stand up, front and center, before a large group of people was something I feared. Here I was, having to live one of my worst nightmares.
I stood on stage, my legs wobbling beneath me uncontrollably. As I started the first line, my voice wavered. I’ll rise. I couldn’t believe I was doing it; speaking in front of a group of people. I focused on a spot on the back wall as the words flowed from my memory. I’ll rise. For a brief second I looked away from the spot, and discovered many faces smiling back at me encouragingly. I’ll rise. I pushed through the poem, my voice getting stronger and more confident line by line. Even though at that time I didn’t understand every part of poem, I could feel the power of the words pulsing through me. I rise, I rise, I rise.