Category: Photo Journal
Feeling the cold squish of paint through your fingers; the tight caking on your rainbow-splattered arms; the laugh bursting from your belly. Finger painting is freedom, is joy, is pleasure. Grateful you could remind me.
“When you wake up in the morning, called by God to be a self again, if you want to know who you are, watch your feet. Because where your feet take you, that is who you are.” – Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace
“Hawaii is my happy place,” I said to no one, ever, at any time. The morning was too bright, too hot, and too lonely. But the light’s beginning to change. Happiness, like a cockroach, has a way of creeping up on you.
Loss unspeakable shatters the morning. Hollow and heavy, I look up and realize the air is still.
Walking the loop, the sun on my back, I glanced to the left and found paradise.
His eyes are like oceans, playful and joyous and deep. His daddy smiles at me through the blue.