a quiet day

My days seem to be made up of peaks and valleys, of quietness and busyness. The weather has been much the same, brilliant warm sunshine and blue skies one day, hard freezes and dreariness the next. We're still wearing winter clothes and running the furnace most nights, but I did have a fleeting sense of hope the other day, bent over weeding my garden in the late afternoon, with a flyby of the first hummingbird of the season. My heart jumped for joy as my head tried to decide if it really was a hummingbird or a really large bumblebee.

My heart decided that it was a hummingbird in the end.

I have been doing a lot of shooting lately, and that has filled up my days. 

I have photographed sorority sisters, full of life and freshness and youth, their stories still waiting to be told.

I photographed a 103-year-old senior, whose stories have been told and whose story is still being told by the gleam in her eye and the smile lines surrounding her face.

I helped my best friend's little girl turn 5 years old after watching my own big girl earn her yellow belt in kenpo, the latest martial arts discipline she's going to master.

I visited the farmer's market for the first time this year, meeting a wood worker who made the most beautiful spoons out of persimmon wood, ash, and maple. She demonstrated how she carved the utensils, straddling her work bench and chopping away at a piece of wood with a small ax and I could begin to see the spoon coming to life. She wore a small stocking cap and work boots, her shirt soaked already from the early morning sunshine. I asked to take her picture and she said yes, swinging her leg back over her bench and showing me once again how she brings life out of wood. I purchased the smallest spoon made out of persimmon wood, the smoothness of the bowl reminding me of my silky blankie I used to use to suck my thumb with when I was a toddler.

Dave and I have been yearning to hit the open road, seeking out new places to explore on the back of his motorcycle. Tuesday evening the light was soft and golden as we meandered the backroads around nearby Tonitown, the dirt that his bike kicked up beautifully highlighted in the lovely light. We didn't really have a destination, taking turns deciding which dirt road to follow. We passed cows and new little calves, some shying away and galloping back to their mommas as the roar of the motorcycle passed their pastures. We came across a creek, an unexpected surprise, but one that David successfully navigated, giving me an excuse to wade across to join him, the cold water instantly soaking my shoes and filling me up with delight.

My weekend is full and the coming week looks to be filling up as well, as I begin to plan an upcoming photography project with a friend and take high school senior pictures for a neighbor girl. I feel blessed lately, blessed with all the goodness that seems to have enveloped myself and my family. I don't know if my sister has anything to do with it, but I like to think that she does, that she is looking down on all of us and taking care of us.

A certain kind of quiet guidance.