this feather reminds me of a little dark-haired boy in a tie and an ill-fitting suit, whose mother has pomaded and combed his hair for sunday service, and whose hair is resolutely refusing to cooperate.
weather beaten feather (probably canada goose)
opening up a flower press is like opening up an old journal. hmm. what was going on back in 2004? what was i thinking about? what had i just discovered? what did i think was important enough to get down on paper, and preserve for my later self?
pressed leaves and flowers
with a misguided click of a button today, i managed somehow to permanently delete my entire email inbox and all of the folders where i’d stored my communications over the last several years. my first feeling was sheer grieving panic. my next feeling, not long afterwards, was a kind of relief. those folders had been filled with artifacts from the past, any of which had the power to resurface in the future in the form of obligations, or missed opportunities or claims on my time. without my even knowing it, they had been present somewhere my psyche as a kind of weight, heavy enough that i could feel it lift today, when i realized they were gone.
simple bouquet of winter stems
broken but whole
we all have little cracks where the world has pressed too hard. when we’re lucky, we still look like ourselves.
broken chicken egg shell
it would seem that a perfect candy crystal snowfall resting on the boughs of the trees along a gravel driveway, on a windless morning, would be an endless source of photographic material. but snow is elusive. and partial proof is here in this lightly frosted oak leaf, which is the only nugget of any value i managed to salvage from the gold mine of my front yard this morning.
snow on a winter white oak leaf