"In the middle of things" is where I feel things are. This though the year has just begun, as have discoveries about my new, Christmas-money camera, and pictures of some "same old things," now closer in view along the Willamette.
There have been a few days this week of fog giving way to sun, light illuminating shadow, and my legs carrying me where they will.
There are continuing times of traffic and parents' appointments, responsibilities with church donations, and striving for balance in treating my marriage rightly, my body's quirkiness wisely, and in giving my creative writing endeavors a moment of attention, or letting them simmer as needed.
In photos and print it's hard to show the messiness of the middle of winter--mud beside the pathway (or the path itself, being man-built and concrete, plus all highways effectively squashing lively things so I can travel)--yet every time we go there, each year, there comes a date with surprise, with winter being a third over and the knowledge (at least in this place) that soon we'll hear echoes of spring.
In photos and print it's hard to show the messiness of the middle of winter--mud beside the pathway (or the path itself, being man-built and concrete, plus all highways effectively squashing lively things so I can travel)--yet every time we go there, each year, there comes a date with surprise, with winter being a third over and the knowledge (at least in this place) that soon we'll hear echoes of spring.
