not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Friday, November 9, 2012


here, mom, he says, after scampering over cold rocks in an icy wind.  he knows there is something important here, something that almost makes no sense yet does.  our hands ache because of the cold.  i mean, we really ache, we struggle and yet the flowers are enduring and delicate.  i put them to my mouth, my nose.  do they smell, he asks.  oh, i forgot to smell them.  i was only touching their softness.  no, i say, breathing in deeply now with intention, i don't think sowait - perhaps?  the wind whips us and the flowers.  the world is too raw and abrupt this day to release the flower's sweet scent but that doesn't mean it's not there.

later he stuffs a feather into my sleeve and runs off over the rocks toward autumn's rough water.  please, tell me he will always always know the value of flowers in an icy cove and feathers stuffed into the sleeve.


  1. Love this. Such intensity and you can feel the cold rip through you when you look at the images. It's so difficult to remember the beauty of spring or summer when we dive into the depths of winter.

  2. As much as I love flowers in the spring I love the fall more. The beauty of the grass, weeds and flowers dried from the cold.

    What you hope for your son is what every parent should want
    We all hope for those things
    I adored the times I spent with my son when he was younger

    Thanks Erin for giving me that link to nuproject.

  3. A beautiful moment!
    There will be more just like this.

  4. his eyes
    his mind
    his gift to us all


  5. this breaks me, in a thousand wonderful and tender ways -


"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))