the morning in photographs.


Instead of Just Writing about my morning…
I will show it to you in photographs.


While babe sleeps.

I eat breakfast.
In bed.
My cozy cozy bed.

I watched my great grandmother’s 24 carat gold fork move between my fingers.
and I think of her.
Her never ending smile.
Her gentle spirit.
Her very few words.
Such such a lady.

I can’t say the same for myself.
I put wine in my teacup.

I put on Claire de Lune and the rain begins to fall.
Nothing compares to seaside rain.
The atmosphere is drenched in scents and smells of the harbor.
with rain water collecting in our unintentional rain collectors..

I step out underneath it.
Claire de lune calling from the door.
The grass is cold and the rain is more so.
The sky is heavy and my mind is free.

My great grandmother’s feet leave prints in the soil.
 { I used to hate these feet..
until I was told they were hers. }

I stand here.
in the soil.
and think.
and wonder what my Cherokee ancestors would think of me.
I wonder if I resemble them.
With my hair wild and down..
I like to imagine I might.

This morning’s rain rinses me clean.
soaks my skin and softens my hair.
and thoughts are good.

so so good.




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