{ i remember } yogi. photographer. lover of details. austin, tx

The way I couldn't choose between the Noir and the Blanc,
so I smelled of Gray.
A teardrop on the cork floor, I smeared it with my thumb.
Silhouettes of branches, Myth plays tauntingly.
My lips turn in quiet appreciation.
So much to give, and surely to receive.



Is there a more beautiful place than the land of my imagination?
Where I paint in magic oil and breath,
where wind grazes my skin and carries my scent to my lover.
chest swells, a heart lifted.
The air is alive with electricity.
Flowers blossom from thoughts, more vibrant than colors of this world.



All these pictures, images of grace.
Memories, dreams, perhaps I have created it all.
I hold my heart open to gather more and share entirely.

{ scripting life } yogi. photographer. mama. writer. austin, tx.

The other day I was sitting on my mat waiting to take a yoga class when I began to smell a most treacherous odor drifting from a fellow yogi. Typically I could hold my breath while aforementioned scent passed, but this lingered. I began to plot my escape, I wasn't far from the door so I decided I would lunge for the exit head first to drive myself across the threshold into the clean open air. As I began to think of how I would leave the terrible rotting food-flesh-digestive-juice-toxic-fart zone I realized something that made me laugh.... I am a writer. Any normal person would just have thought "it stinks."

It is with that realization that I have been actively writing and being much more open about it, which feels healthy and challenging. Without rhyme or reason, I pray that my words will reach those who need them and not offend those who don't.



Dark hair, dark ink, dark eyes.
Light sheets, sunshine, summer.
Years or days, how long have we rested?
Tilt your chin down and kiss the top of my head.
I'm a hand inside the glove of your arms.

More time, more teasing, more distance.
Loud concerts, music, melodies.
Space or isolation, do I always hide?
Take me on a picnic and sing away my fears.
You're the prince of my childhood dreams.




Tiny drops splash down to the earth.
They may be tears at this point, I tell myself they are sweat.
A tenderness in the center of my chest, a pressure behind my heart.
I will not bend,
I don't believe I can break,
but I continue to try.

An audible breath enters my lungs.
I exhale with even more sound, it's more than air I let go.
My life is bigger this moment than 2 seconds ago, a year unbelievable.
I gain gratitude,
I think I will burst,
and still love grows.

My body and soul partner in this dance.
One hand through the air, I'm reaching and anchored at once.
How much this practice has changed me, audaciously saved my life.
I found my way,
I stepped to the door,
finally I opened.




I want to thank you all for the emails, notes, social media messages, ect. that you have sent to encourage me to keep sharing. As many of you have experienced as well, it is always a welcome and uplifting thing to be told that what I share is appreciated. I am so grateful for those who continue to give their own gifts and inspire me to do so. If you ever find yourself narrating your life, you might consider writing, also if you make up stories about strangers in the car next to you in traffic, I suggest journaling or therapy (because we all need to vent our crazy and it's a best practice to do it artistically and with non-violence). I have so much love for you all, continued gratitude from my heart to yours. xo.

{ recollection } - yogi. photographer. storyteller. austin, tx

There she sat in her chair, just as I had seen her so many times. Together they had looked like King and Queen of their home in their recliners, each with their own lamp and side table. She was so still, in disbelief or reverie. It was this moment that I was able to place a word with what I had witnessed between my grandparents for nearly 20 years, love.




My grandmother with whom I share a name, was my first glimpse of true love. In this one visit after my grand father's passing, I saw her heart missing the piece which she called "Norris."
In her eyes and in her countenance, it was clear she would never be the lively Me-Maw that I had always known and cherished. Her spark came from their playful banter, the way they teased each other and pretended to argue, when all the time she was devoted and in mad love.

She broke the melancholy silence... "You know what I miss the most?" she asked me, not really needing an answer she continued on, "I miss how he came home every night and would shout to me "Sallie, I'm home!" it was the best part of my day and now I won't ever hear that again."

I believe in love, I've seen it. It looks like two people grumbling around a house with a mischievous twinkle in their eye for one another. It looks like a smile when you walk in from a long day away. It looks like a wink across the table at a bad joke. It looks like pictures displayed and stories told with the greatest pride for a lover. It looks like Buttered Pecan ice cream in the freezer.



I might wear rose colored glasses, but what I have seen and what I recognize that charged between my Me-Maw and Paw-Paw is the sweetest of romances. A true love story.

{ with words } - yogi. photographer. storyteller. austin, tx.

I'll tell you not only with my eyes and my touch, you'll hear it in my voice and read it in my written word.



Tell me a story.
Whisper against my cheek a tale of lovers.
Let passion spill from your lips onto my skin.
I want to experience your every word,
have them ripple sensation throughout my body as if poured into my ears.

Speak to me with your slow, seductive voice.
Look over at me with your quizzical brow and your admiring eye.
My heart pains at the site,
at the memory.
Cover my hand upon your chest.
Close my eyelids with your fingertips.
Quiet my lips with your strong kiss.

I soak you in.
Vision, sound, embrace.
There was water, there were tears, there was trembling.
I hang on your every word.
Interesting, curious, unexpected.
It was dark, it was sunrise, you were my fairytale.