i absolutely love this photograph of my friend lorri in her amazing autumnal raincoat from paris, taken from the river in portland on a very rainy day. it says so much about the tiniest little sliver of life i saw outside of an airport hotel:
there was rain, there were reflections at my feet, diamonds dripping from branches hanging overhead.
there were lovely words engraved in stone that spoke of a day like this, there were rainspouts dripping lines of diamonds into the reflecting pool below.
it was a time to be reminded, a time to sift through the memories and choose what to savor, what to erase, to release, to let go.
a time to move on. a time to grow.
all of this, within the confines of a sparse three hours outside of the hotel, breathing in fresh air, walking in the rain, sipping fragrant hot tea with a sweet friend in a quiet and sacred space.
these are my visual memories of a city that i would love to know;
this was my time to unwind, to breathe deeply, to close my eyes and leave the discomfort behind. portland, it was lovely to be with you again, if only for the briefest glimmer of time.
(i will be posting photographs of my beloved students' incredible work as soon as i can get the camera photos loaded and cropped to size. they did such amazing things! they were all amazing, themselves. to commit to one teacher for three full days is a commitment of determination and faith in my abilities to teach, and i cannot thank my students enough for being there, for teaching me as well.)
color has exploded here at home, red and yellow prayer leaves falling en masse across the blustery afternoon sky.
i cannot get enough of being home; each and every passing hour counts, each hour is a gift. each walk is a mantra, a thank you, to my own sweet, sacred world;
each walk is a step towards light, towards growing and healing and living a life full of grace.
(please think strong thoughts for my mother as she undergoes a third surgery this morning, for more cancer on her nose. she will have been put to sleep three times in the last six weeks, and i want to say, enough! thank you, to my beloved sister ellen, for being there when i could not; i'll be down there again as soon as i can)...xo