These are pictures from some time within the past two years:
I have something to say about them.
I'd just been born into a new era of my life and had no idea what was coming.There was something in my countenance that isn't there anymore--
A simple oblivion, a younger innocence.
The phases of the coming storm were on the tip of time's tongue.
The strength was within me, but still dormant.
When the quaking came, I found it.
It grew and drew back in waves, but I was never alone.
And then, much later, I overcame.
Go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.
I see myself now...I know that the specific innocence of that girl is no longer detectable in me, because I traded it for something I needed more. I miss her sometimes, though I do not regret what replaced her.
I am growing up.
I cannot define what was or what is.
I know only that I am a tough girl,
a strong and grateful woman.
I am not afraid to see my efforts in ashes--
because I know that I will rise.
...Even so, I desire that ye should stand fast in this liberty wherewith ye have been made free.
* * * * * * *
THE TIME: 7:08ish AM
THE MOMENT:The airport; sitting by the paintings with the notebook Shavondah made me.
The quaking of the earth woke her core as it surged to the surface. She remains native to its shivering, yet somehow still solid in her perpetual upward reach. In time, the stoic stare of her winding angles will soften with the sundown, nurturing the wild horizon.
THE TIME: afternoonish maybe.
THE MUSIC: Cannonball; Damien Rice
THE MOMENT: I miss Kennylove.
We were UPSiDe dOWn like divers,
but with chaos added to the grace,
our pulse could not evade the gravity of time.
There is a fine line between the lucid art we claim and the circus they see.
Our truth versus their logic
though I sometimes can't move the kaleidescope from my eyes,
my foundation in you remains—I am not afraid.
* * * * * * *
THE TIME: 1:30 in the mornin
THE MUSIC: Its Rainin In Baltimore; Counting Crows
THE MOMENT: Drivin home at night.
Though the moon hung distant in the sky; the reflection of its light stretched eerily across the water beneath. I stared back as memories from my moonlit past rocked out of my bones. From its floating linear path it reached, like a ghost, for me. But I had built the bridge I stood upon, and so I trusted my resilience.
Like me, these trees are heaving for a breeze. We both are often blocked by mystery, wilted from the anticipation.
Still, I know the solid placement of each stone beneath my feet, and thus I am stronger than the reflection before me.