Tuesday, May 5, 2015

{ un read } - yogi. writer. photographer. austin, tx

Where is the curious spark that flickered across your face?
There was wonder and desire.
Go ahead, crack my spine, break me in.
Lick your finger and turn every page.
Find the stories that you don't yet know, learn the secret.
In these pages, stories, humor, fantasy, and magic.
Read and uncover, ask an unlock.
A creative body of work in the palm of your hands.
Feel free, draw in my margins, leave your notes.
Dust and patina carry no glamour, blow off my cover and don't stop at the foreword.




I laid on the floor with my tears hot, stinging my eyes before they rolled to exit.
My chest heaving as I held in sobs, not now, not here.
I remembered the sky.
Last night I looked up, she was so blue I could hear the stars weep.
I've given up on myself somehow, I can't remember the light but I know it's there.
The light is blue like the sky and amber like my soul.
It feels like exile and I crave home.
I push and I push, at least now it's only myself, I have new sympathy for those I crushed.
My shoulders shake, I wish someone would hold them down.
Heart in my throat, a headache I can't escape, screams I can't unleash.
I let the rain fall straight on my head, soak my clothes, and wet my skin.
There was a time I ran through the storm and braved lightening to sprint.



Tuesday, March 31, 2015

{ words and numbers } long lost writer - austin, tx

Sometimes it takes a friend to speak up before I move to action. In this case there were a couple of you for which I am deeply grateful. My will to write, to shoot, and to share have waned and a part of who I am was lost momentarily. Although my camera still waits, my words I release.

You were 42, 37, 24, and a thousand yellow flowers.
I was wrapped up in a cocoon of purple with the blue sky above me.
A hundred days go by or maybe two.
Enigma and bliss blur together, I muddle emotion like a mint julep.
I have the words in my head and let them fall silent.
My heart is exposed and the words tumble forth.
Shake, books, everyone is Bob, angels in my pocket, and your eyelashes brush my cheek.
A curl of dark hair, skeptical and sincere.
Tiny fingers that wrap around my hair, the sweetest gift.
Nothing will surpass you three.
Water, mud, white linen, and bean bags.
All that has been, every experience, only excites me for the future.
Can I have this forever, can I bottle this life?

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

{ songs and sonnets past } yogi. photographer. who knows. austin, tx

You may not speak of me as if you know who I am.
Brief inquests only began to reveal the depths.
Who is this 'other' who reaches out to strike me down?
I am not for share, for sale, or any for that you chance to dream.
All can live bold and be full of intrigue.
Interest sparked does not equate knowledge, only potential.
We choose to dive and chase, to expedition deep into curious souls.
It can frighten, deter, and ultimately separate us.
Transmute fear into excitement, the same drug of the brain.
There was a shake, a sadness, a reliving, and a void.

We spoke of books, buses, and Bob...
and yet learned so little.





Friday, November 14, 2014

{ chill } - yogi. mama. photographer. austin, tx

When it's cold I have to tell myself everything is alright, my body believes life is over. The pep talk goes something like this...



Hush doll, it's time to relax.
Let wind blow and skin prickle,
you're alright, you're warm inside.
Feet friction the sheets and dry off real fast,
tricks of the trade.
It's only for a couple of months,
you can do anything that long.



Remember when it hurt to walk?
You can still move your fingers,
come on, rub them together, wake 'em up.
Socks are savior and your scarf smells good.
Bundle up baby, you'll get warm.
No thinking about Summer,
set your mind on cheese and red wine.

Rake leaves and bury time capsules,
it's almost Thanksgiving.
Sweaters and damp gloves,
hoodies and sweet potatoes, it has to be cold.
Snuggle close, nuzzle your nose.
The thawing will come,
and you'll lay in the rays of sunshine.







Sunday, September 21, 2014

{ sky burn } - yogi. photographer. mama. austin, tx

The hills burned a special shade of pink alight by the fire of a setting Texas sun.
Warm pockets of air juxtaposed by strange coolness like the breath of angels saying to keep moving.

When moving from the place where light is clear, life becomes rich.
Windows of the soul thrown open to let the fresh breeze enter and the warmth touch the world outside.

There are smiles in this life that etch deeply and firmly reside as memories.
One look laced with encouragement can blaze brilliantly through sadness and lift a spirit.

Gratitude is ripe on the branch and I will stand underneath and cherish nectar spilling onto my whole body.

sirsasana intro

yogablogsign1

Thursday, September 11, 2014

{ satya } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx

In the cold there was a hike to a glacier in the mountains. Lives converge in wild places where you cross marsh bridges and step-to-stones, following chipmunks and gaining wisdom from crooked trees. Magic happens everywhere, but the forrest holds special enchantment.

My feet tell the story of my day.
Tired, but not weary. Dirty, but not soiled.
These are the feet of my work.
Strong and able to recover, to press on, to run, and to ground.
They carry the weight of my body and they anchor the lightness of my mind.
These feet will strike the earth, float and dance across my mat, and follow my heels over my head in love.
I bare my feet, my father's daughter.

satya - truth

yogablogsign1

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

{ farrago } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx.

Words swim around, looping with the rhythm of breath and footfall.
It's a sky saturated in periwinkle that begs description.
It's fingertips enjoying the texture of a lover's back as they curl in.
Sensation, viral through the webbing of the mind, clattering a beautiful, chaotic melody.


tulum, mexico

The colors are always these exaggerated hues, haze has cleared and unveiled rainbows pour into my eyes.
Lowering my eyelids only serves to expand the boundary of my imagination.
Life so grand, so real, so simple, so glorious.
To rest suspended in air, the rock-a-bye-baby as majestic as the illustrations of my childhood books.
Dear soul believe, do not let slip these sentences that scroll, etch them in your heart, carve them into memories, put them down on paper.


yogablogsign1

Sunday, June 22, 2014

{ fall of spring } - yogi. dreamer. photographer. traveler. austin, tx

There was smoke, lights, cold, rain, and confusion.
Smiling did not cease and desire was not shallow.
Small beginnings and somehow all at once.
Head first with a heart surrounded by full guard.
"Impossible" she said.
"Never" she proclaimed.
Until maybe became a thought and sincerity poured on her shoulders and trickled down her spine.

tulum, mexico

There has been the gentle crunch of gravel under foot while hearts and minds raced.
Breath and movement together.
Reality lost to the welcome embrace of dreams and fantasy.
Angels held close to her chest, memories of the sweetest gift.
Tangles of limbs and jungles of fears conquered by two spirits open.
Long moments of silence are filled with burgeoning trust and adoration.
A canopy of trees, the swish of water, the goosebumps brought on by a breeze.
Life more awake or deeper into this dream.
All she had to do was be honest, be seen, and patiently wait.


yogablogsign1

Sunday, May 11, 2014

{ extend a memory } - mama. photographer. stylist. yogi. austin, tx

To prolong a memory you must recreate it again and again in your mind. A photo is the easiest and most effective way to deepen and savor a passing moment. I hope these are never lost. The loves of my life, the greatest gifts of all, the reason I try.






It can't always be serious...not in our world anyway.






go. play. love. live. hug. kiss. take a lot of photos. xo y'all.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

{ lovers and such } - yogi. mama. daughter. austin, tx

to whom it may concern,



I watched her drop her chin,
shrug her shoulders to protect her cheek from his lips.
Shudder at the touch of his hand to her back.
What joy you missed.
Self prescribed punishment.

I saw his heart fall to his belly,
rejection leaked like tears at the corner of his eyes.
So much tenderness to give and no alter to receive.
Love turned to fear.
Lessons learned only very late.

I've seen the boys strategically half naked,
the girls in their well planned garments for attention.
A precious dance they step and sway as children on the brink.
Endearment grows as lust.
They know not a difference.

I have felt a hand at my face,
pressed my skin into the pressure of a tender touch.
Fallen heart first for kindness and the lack of.
Given my all to nothing.
Lingered in sweetness of exchange.