{ 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.

{ 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.