{ 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.

{ around } yogi. photographer. witness. austin, tx.

The words are often there, I choose to pull them down with keys or pen.
They attempt to capture the images that flash by too speedily for lens.



I drive through moments of clarity.
I see severe humanity on the curb waiting for the #4.
The air feels dense with the promise of autumn.
My nose pulled from the depth of my latest book, now keen to inhale experience.

Several black cars drive past.
Silver and sunlight glitter through the windows.
I follow the flow of lyrics that erupt in my head.
Living is so magnificent, I ponder and chide myself for ever being blue.

A soft golden light glows in the corner.
Neighbors are shuffling into their work boots.
The quiet hum of traffic from the highway is drifting in.
Ahead is a day filled with decadence, I indulge in being alive.

Chills prickle down my arms.
My throat becomes stifled with nameless emotion.
So much energy is spiraling around and wafting through.
Each sensation brings me more present, I am splendidly waking.

{ you wish } - yogi. photographer. mama. austin, tx.

Oh princess, just breathe.
Stop your frantic worry and settle down.
There will be days that are much worse, followed by bliss beyond your wildest dreams.
Don't fret the imaginary.
Your body is a whirlwind of change right now, stand in the center of your current storm,
let the winds smooth your rough edges.
You're being refined.
If you allow it, this will all make you more beautiful.

Babydoll, relax.
Your fears are far worse than reality.
It won't be easy, these times are the most challenging.
Each day you grow closer to relief, age is freedom.
Be still in your mind.
I'm not so far removed that I have forgotten, you live in a scary place,
one that you will learn from.
Your forever is wide open.
The future holds great promise, tremendous love at your fingertips.

Sunshine, wait patiently.
Close your ears to the voices that bring fright.
Begin to explore yourself, learn to love who you are enough to share with others.
Release your thorny defense.
Welcome the beauty of grace to your life, inhale a quiet confidence,
become the leader your life requires.
They need you strong.
I pray this for you, I believe this of you.

{ untamed } yogi. photographer. austin, tx

I found myself relishing memories of my childhood again this weekend. How could I not write about all these absurd and wonderful moments of my past?



Have you ever waited by the side of the road for cars to drive by and splash dirty gutter water on you like a tidal wave?
Would you be pissed if your neighbor scolded you for climbing on your dad's Dodge Ram to dance on the top?
Was there a time your mom drove up to find you climbing out of the window above a sink to escape an evil baby-sitter?
Yeah, me too.

Did you bury time capsules all over your grandparent's yard?
Were you afraid of who would be elected president?
Do you ever catch the scent of a memory?
I do that too.

Can you still remember the awkward first kiss after he chased you around with a bloody deer head?
Was it annoying when you had to wait for the party-line to free up so you could make a phone call?
When it's quiet at night, do you ever miss the voices of your 3 older sisters telling you to "shut up!" so they can sleep?
I relate so well.




It's funny what stays with you and what resurfaces when you allow yourself to be lulled by the current of nostalgia and memory. I did not think I would have such a deep well of recollection, but I have this incredibly expansive list of stories, flashbacks, and eccentricities that I treasure. Of course some of it is messed up and I have had to work through it to find the place of gratitude, as I have I'm fascinated by how much I love my history. Even the weird.

{ close } - yogi. photographer. austin, tx

Patience.
You're on the precipice.
Step over, fall.
You are so close, the wind is rising.
Open your wings, shut your eyes.
Exhale.
Tremble.

Believe.
Know that you can.
Trust your senses, feel your way.
Soak in this moment, welcome the next.
Inhale.
Consume.

Savor.
Life is worth tasting.
Open your mouth, fill.
Partake in the bounty, bliss on your shoulders.
Twirl and spiral, be dizzy with love.
Breathe.
Continue.

{ who we are } - yogi. photographer. blacksheep. austin, tx.

Yes, it's true that I have a very active imagination and ridiculously strange sense of humor (the kind that's only funny to me and possibly two other people). I can't help it, this is how I was born. Really.

Let me explain.

Tonight I was asked how I learned to be social. Since I was never in school or any social setting to learn from a young age how other children behaved and what made them laugh, this was a valid question. While others my age were in school or playing T-Ball/Soccer/anything involving other children, I was home alone most days with a lot of pets, several siblings, and hardly any supervision at all. I had to self entertain, which sometimes meant crafting boats of hay to sail horse poop across the pond in the backyard (that's 100% true, I had a witness).

Social skills were the furthest thing from my young mind and I don't remember caring enough about what people said to me to know if they were trying to teach me anything about that at all. One thing I do recall being taught by my eldest sister is the word "sarcastic." It was like she gave me a magic key, I am pretty sure that my face began to glow and my heart beamed golden light. Also I loved when I learned the word "pandemonium" but that came from a book so nobody gets credit for teaching me that except ME, that's who.

Friends, you don't learn how to be this strange, it's like a curse that you go to therapy or spiritual healing to try and sort out (hypothetically, of course). No, really, there came a time through all my trying to fit in, to learn how to maneuver in a social setting without being "all weird and quiet" (quiet is to sit back and try to observe so you make fewer mistakes when actually speaking) that I saw my background not as a handicap, but as a badge of honor. The way I grew up sets me apart, sure, so now I open up more because this stuff is funny and I apologize less because it's not my fault others don't get it and it takes something more obvious to make them laugh (that's sad, sorry for those people).



Social skills, yeah I lack them in the traditional manner. Passing this along to my public school, mainstream bombarded girls is a challenge. I'm just trying to teach them manners, appreciation for good music, and an open mind to the absurdity that they call "mama" (or recently "Mommy" again, which I totally cherish and I'm not sure what brought about the resurrection). I think they are pretty darn lucky to have the balance of extremely traditional and normal with exceptionally odd and open minded. It's also great that they don't have access to horse poop or ponds.

{ never known } - yogi. photographer. mama. austin, tx.

She is 15 today. What would my life be if this amazing young woman had not come to me? I don't even like to imagine my world without her. She came to me just three months before I turned 17. The perfect time.



Full of smiles, plenty of songs to please crowds.
A starlight born with her very own star.
She knew what she was from the first day.
I still learn.
She amazes me.
Shirley Temple, my Bug, my first love.
Tear filled blue-gray, flecks of green.
She can break my heart and send it to the sky.
Deeply caring, brilliant beyond her own knowledge.
Beginning to fly.
Tiny kicks to a belly so young.
My savior from an ordinary life.
For her I'd be more, I swore, I swear.
The wires tangle.
A wild rope bridge between the jungle of our hearts.
So much lady light.
Blinding.
Staring into the sun of each other.
New, frightening, beautiful.
A prayer to be worthy.
A grace for mistakes.
She was given as my teacher and I as hers.
Together we can dance through the difficult.
There is no greater love than this.