Recuperation

Not quite Imogen Cunningham, but this is the true story of my day. Bella was going to come for our usual Thursday afternoon, but she had an interview at a pre-school this morning, and after that she was crabby and tired, so her parents felt it was best to postpone. (Sounds like she's a bonafide introvert, but that's just me, the maximal introvert, talking.)

I nursed a migraine and looked at some Blip journals, including this exquisite portrait by Boyko, so beautiful it makes me weak with love to look at it. I put Dirait-on on repeat and played all day with my New York photographs. I left some just as they were, in color, but converted twenty to mono and came up with an album that gives me pleasure. There are a few in it I've never shown before. I don't always see my best work on the day I shoot it.

I'm coming back to balance. Taking deep breaths. Remembering to exhale. Feeling grateful to be home, happy to kick my feet in my own bed, happy to look out the window at the green leaves and rest my tired bones. Did laundry, went to the grocery store, listened to the birds in the trees. Bought blackberries and strawberries. I'm so thankful I'm teary-eyed with it.