Today, I went for what was supposed to be a photowalk with a new friend. Of course, the cold weather, the wind, the ADD and the conversation conspired to make it so that I only took 5 photos during the entire day. Only one of which I liked.
Of course, Isobel continues to capture my camera’s eye. Why not, right? I’ve gotta fit into the mommy blogger niche somehow other than just stretch marks.
I wondered today, as I ate lunch with a man with beautiful hands, inhaling food as usual, barely tasting it…why don’t I have it in me (now, at least) to notice the little things and savour them?
Why can my camera take only expansive shots that I have to edit and crop down?
Why don’t I sit there and enjoy the banana bread I baked last night, instead of taking bites in between drags on my smoke?
Why am I so flighty, so apt to create an entire new future based on a book choice or teeshirt cut or raised eyebrow?
Why have I never stopped to notice someone’s hands before, instead, usually seeing the angry aura someone could carry that surrounds a need to be saved from themselves?
I wonder why I can compartmentalize anything in a negative sense, but rarely stop and see the little things right in front of my nose.
So tell me. When you notice a patch of teensy purple flowers in the weed patch by the fire hydrant that all of the dogs in the neighbourhood piss on, what makes you stop and stare?
{Since you’re here anyway, I might as well direct your attention to the new about page. Ahem. Whoring done.}
