my favorite winter hide out

I leave my bed early in the morning. I tiptoe into the room where our instruments hang like planets above our heads. I pull at the curtains until sunbeams pour over every string and strand of hair. I look outside to see cars in the distance and if I squint well enough, the cars begin to look like tiny spaceships carrying strangers to strange places. Some days, I'll wish I was looking at a mountain, other days, I'll want sea waves, collecting foam on a shore, but today, I am pleased to be seeing the electricity of a city life. There are so many people here, most of who are strangers. They buzz around like bees while I stand still enough to hear my own heart beating.

When I look outside and see all of the people, I ask myself where they are headed to. Some of them must be artists, plumbers, doctors or dog walkers who follow the same commute each day. I don't know if I could do it — waking every day with the same road to travel seems sad and ornery to me, but for many it is a way of life. Perhaps in the future, I'll be the one turning an ignition to a car at the same hour every morning, pressing between gas pedal, brakes and the turning of wheels until I arrive to my destination. The same destination as yesterday. The same destination as tomorrow. 

If only I could forever be an artist and the road to travel was always changing its route. If only every hour led me to my favorite winter hide out (pictured here) where the creeks run and the wild oak trees rise...Happiness.

 outfit details: oasap skirt, value village thrifted shoes


aim to be trees | thoughts on sorrow

The sun is on the sea but everything feels sunken like the eyes of an insomniac who putters around at night, he is looking for something he'll never find and a life without sleep is a forest grove without fruit trees. How can we sleep when we watch the news until we have red eyes? How can we go on living knowing others won't get to? How does one continue to believe the world is a beautiful place when the ugliness of others is pressed against our hearts like the sharpness of a pushpin?

The answers are not simple, but I refuse to let music notes turn into unread sheets of fallen trees. I will not let concrete spill into the cracks of my heart. Instead, I hope for music to be heard louder than ever before and the cracks to be filled with soil where beanstalks can grow.  I don't believe it's naive to be hopeful, just like I don't believe those who are suffering from insomnia choose to go without sleep. We can try our best to write poems and make sense of the madness, but even I have felt the earth shake at my feet and wondered what the point of it all was. 

Every so often, the world is a bear and we're tiny blueberries shaking and stirring until we fall. Other times, we're trees who bear flowers underneath a shimmery sun. The point is to aim to be trees, not blueberries, we can withstand the winter even if we lose a few of our branches in the wind. I am with you. A billion aches can be heard across the sea. Songs of silence travel where prairies meet the mountains. Sorrow and heartbreak surround us, but for every pushpin, there is a pillow and on that pillow we will get our rest and dream of waking to a world where mothers aren't hurting.

Let us live, love and find reasons of our own to call this world beautiful. For every living and once living thing, I sing for you. Even when there is a lump in my throat from holding back tears, I sing for you. Let us be pillows, soft hands and songs for those who need us to be. Let us be the spark which lights our way when the cave goes dark.

 outfit details: Chicwish skirt, Value Village thrifted shoes

How can we make the world a more beautiful place? Tell me, what is something that can help others to feel peaceful even when chaos exists?

Good morning milkmaid braid

Today, I write from a corner in the house where instruments wait to make music and books of pressed flowers wait to be gazed upon. I look around to see an autoharp surrounded by random papers of white and a coffee cup filling the air with good morning tidings. It's almost as if the world is saying "No matter how bad the day gets, you had your morning air and it was beautiful."

I need my mornings to be like this: Quiet like the falling of snow on a hillside, slow like maple syrup dripping onto a stack of pancakes, and gentle like the hour after you were born when your mother holds onto you and believes she is holding the world. As the day goes on, I prefer to have my moments sparked like the beginning of love. I want to listen to music that compels me to cry or stomp. I want to read stories that give rise to that feeling of wonder. I want to run, speak, and dine on the fruits of adventure as if the day will never come to an end. I want to feel like I am doing something lively and important with these daylight hours, even if I'm only naked and dancing at home while my favorite record sings through the floorboards. Never underestimate the beauty of naked you, dancing to a song you love.

As soon as the moon climbs over the hills, I return to my longing for a quiet, slow, and gentle life. I put on my comfiest sweater and wool socks. I wash my face with warm water. I look around to see the autoharp has only moved an inch and the coffee in the cup has left with morning. If I was out, I am home again. If I was home, I see it all differently now. It's almost as if the world is saying "No matter how bad the day was, you have your evening light and it will be beautiful."

 outfit details: Cult of Hope skirt, Blung key necklace

 What is your favorite time of day? How do you spend your mornings differently than you spend the other hours?

the cotton covered woods

I am standing in the cotton covered woods while soft flakes of snow float onto my eyelashes. I blink for a moment only to feel the cool air of November travel through the spaces between my fingers. These small spaces where my body ends are where my true love's body begins. We hold hands longer in the wintertime to keep icicles from forming.

Each year, the snow drifts onto the rooftops and every inch of earth grows quiet. I vow not to long for my garden because longing only takes away sand from life's hourglass. If I am here now, in the cotton covered woods with the one I love beside me, why should I want to be anywhere else?
 outfit details: Oasap dress, Value Village jacket, Aldo fringe boots

autumn was here.

Autumn was here in the hills and eyes of those who fasten their hair with sunlight. There was no step you could take without leaves crackling under the weight of your feet. I stood by the lake where floating leaves gather as if it was a mirror. I saw my round face and growing hair as if I had been given new eyes. This is me. The only I. That face, although sometimes more moon-like then the desired sharpness of other faces, it is how the world knows when to say my name.

I could have been born into anything, maybe a fish who is caught by the hook of fishermen or a bee who lives for only one season before being dead. I could have been born a huckleberry or a Maggie, instead I was born a girl named Amy with hair that won't hold a part and eyes that spill saltwater upon hearing I love you's.

Autumn was here on the postman's trail and in every whistling strand of wind. I watched the dog's fur be moved by it as they raced towards the forest. I wanted to race with them, the way I used to, but I couldn't because I was dreaming of sleep. The doctors told me I am tired because my vitamin levels are like the inside of a grand canyon — you can't reach them because they're low, so I've begun taking supplements which taste like dirt from a garden. "Things could always be worse" has become my daily poem, the words I repeat to myself whenever the going gets tough.

I could have been born into anything, maybe a cat who licks the feet of somebody's brother or a wild pine that must stay in the same place always. I could have been born a strawberry or a Micheal, instead I was born a girl named Amy with the kindling of dreams still in my hands and a deep in-my-gut desire to awake from this sleepiness and live again.

Autumn was here. This is me. The only I.

outfit details: Banana Republic sweater, Chicwish skirt, Value Village boots