:: the coffee shop

my favorite coffee shop.



i just can't seem to get over:

the old-timey stretch of street it's on.

or their chalkboard menu.

or their delicious veggie sandwiches.

or the designs they put in my latte foam.


i find myself always taking the same seat.

at the counter that faces the window.

sipping slowly from my mug.

sometimes reading a book.

or sometimes gazing out at the world around me.


there are always such engaging people scattered about.

who don't mind at all.

when you break into their conversation.

desperate to know the title of the incredible book they're reading aloud.



i find myself breathing easy here.

unfolded perfectly between--

its peace.

and its vibrancy.

loving...

loving//

these words:

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you simply, without problems or pride.
I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this--
in which there is no I or you.
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand.
so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.
Pablo Neruda


this recipe:
creamy baked eggs & vanilla cardamom french toast


this video:
josh vogel

grand mere state park: part 2/woods

"i'll stand where you stood/come out of the woods."
-matthew and the atlas

***

grand mere's trail head.
led out onto a beautiful.
shaded.
nature path.

the mid october afternoon.
lent it's mild wind.
orange & crimson canopy.
and generous leaf piles.

the sun shone like a diamond through the tree trunks.

grand mere state park: part 1/baldtop

a few weekends ago.
i rose early.
packed a backpack.
and drove clear across the palm of michigan.

window's rolled down.
sphere of the sun in my rear-view mirror.

i drove till the highway hugged lake michigan.
then pulled into a state park.
and traversed through the gorgeous woods.

the forest trail led to a sand dune.
baldtop.
a hundred foot climb.

the wind whipped.
and sand swirled around me.

i trudged to the top.

in the near distance.
white-capped lake waves could be heard.
crashing.
calling.

i pushed further on.
and to my great reward.

the peak was incredible.
crisp air.
sand grass.
water.
and solitude.

not a soul to be seen.

i sat with my legs hanging over a sandy edge.
looking out across the wide expanse.

endless water.
endless water.
endless.

orange/purple

//as of late//

the autumn afternoons.

have been saturated with:::

orange moccasins.
purple flannel.
film.
and fallen leaves.

om.

on a recent morning hike.

i happened upon a sign.
nailed to a tree.
in the autumn wood.
hand carved.
and laden with meaning.

two small letters.
etched.
O and M.

om.
om.
om.

a simple.
repetitive.
vibrating.
cacophony.

a verbal meditation.

it felt like the whole forest.
wrapped up in a single word.
a single sound.

i lingered long at the tree trunk.
staring up at that sign.


awash.
with peace.

alaska dreams

i've been having dreams.
big.
beautiful.
wilderness dreams.

alaska dreams.

i picture myself trekking through the midwest.
up across the canadian rockies.
onto the alaskan passage.

my car ends up on a lone highway.
dead ending in the seaside town of homer.
on the tip of the kenai peninsula.

i travel light.
my green day pack heavied only by--
an old 1950's map of alaska.
and my field notes.

i look out across the bay.
and then further out.
across the sea.

i feel the crisp air.
blowing down off the mountains.
i sense the ocean.
in every part of the world around me.

and i'm peaceful.
elated.

home.


i can't wait step foot in that beautiful place.

the apples in their orchard

there's something so perfect about the orchard.
(especially this year-- as i explored it with my nephew for the first time)

pumpkins.
apples.
bales of hay.
hot donuts.
cold cider.
a mason jar bee hive.
ponies.

it makes autumn real.
makes it tangible.
wraps it all up.
and places it right in your hand.

an afternoon there in the crisp air.

is one of my most cherished traditions.

the quiet. and the moon.

*diana outtake collage*

been quiet here.
working. dreaming.

****

tonight.
i left my camera at home.
drove out to the woods.
climbed on the hood of my car.
and stared long and hard.
at the full moon shining.

a baby deer hobbled.
knock-kneed.
out of the forest.
and into the silver lunar glow.

our eyes met.
through the shadows.
in a knowing.

then we both turned.
and headed home.

cast iron & succulent

using a little plastic film camera.
can often result in happy accidents.
images that are survivors.
ones that make it against the odds.
ones that were never meant to be.

like this beauty.
an unlikely pairing of cast iron & succulent.

one that i love all the more.
for being something so much greater.
than the sum of its parts.

eggs & oxfords

the days.
as of late.
have been introspective.
layered.
they pulse and buzz.
with the life-force of discovery.
and wonder.

i've spent them.
wearing in a pair of oxfords.
traipsing cities and forests--
with a pentax k1000 around my neck.
and cooking up the freshest of northern farm eggs.

this woman's incredible music
has been the soundtrack of my sunrise and moonlight.

it plays on in my head.
long after the notes have ceased.

// midnight moon

{polaroid 600 image of plums + pentax. impossible film. with the back peeled off.}


i'm making this incredible cake.
using a bowl of juicy.
ripe.
midnight moon plums.

i was drawn.
immediately.
to their deep color.
and their lunar name.

it's fitting.
that i arrange them.
atop a sweet batter.
on a clear night.
under a half moon.

housekeeping::

He would pick up eggshells, a bird’s wing, a jawbone,
the ashy fragment of a wasp’s nest.
He would peer at them with the most absolute attention--
and then put them in his pockets,
where he kept his jack-knife and his loose change.
He would peer at them as if he could read them.

- Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping

read this book. please. read. read. this book.

coffee shop medicine

there's something so brilliant.
about a crisp afternoon spent over lattes.
and spritzers.
and egg sandwiches.

something so therapeutic.
about a conversation that flows.
and laughs that multiply.
and encounters with strangers at counter tops.


i am a firm believer that a coffee shop is the very best medicine.

comfort food

in the summer i find i cook less.
i eat so much fresh.
and raw.
right off the vine.
drizzled with a bit of olive oil.
or only lightly sauteed in a herby sauce.

but when the temperature tumbles.
i begin craving comfort.
something homemade.
something warm.
and so i find myself positioned by the stove.
baking.
creating.
transforming fresh ingredients.
into a dish i can't help but savor.

most recently.

i feasted on--
farm fresh fried eggs on toast.
home-grown home-fries.
and these addictive chocolate beet muffins.


spot-on. and delish.

rain boots. rain. and harvest.

the garden beds.
have been turning chilly.

moonlit temperatures.
have just escaped the point of frost.

and the summer plants are calling to be harvested.

so rain boot clad.
and bucket accompanied.
i ventured out into a rainy morning.

and plucked a few final eggplants.
snipped a load of huge, veiny collards.
salvaged some green tomatoes from a weeping vine.
and pulled up all the dark red beets.

lunches.
dinners.
and muffins.
were had in excess.

oh how genuinely.
and dearly.
i will miss the season of harvest.

: sparkle/shell/feather

sparkle shoe.

beached shell.

and scattered feather.


accent the cool whisper of the breeze.

the hue of orange-red leaves.

the warm of still-hot muffins.

and the moon near dawn.

::: autumnal elements

it's late september.

the autumnal equinox.

and i feel as though i could survive solely on.

thick flannel.

changing leaves.

& stove-top espresso in a camping mug.



the trinity of fall comfort.


+++


watch.


listen.

:: we stood. steady as the stars in the woods. -- b.howard

ever since i discovered the grove.
it's been a place of peace.
and clarity.
to me.

i love standing at the mouth of the woods.
that first stretch of dirt-packed path to the forest.
i take a quick breath before i enter.
it's a different world beneath that canopy.
of tree and branch.

and anything is possible.

++

on my latest journey there.
i came upon a place where the trees break.
and a lovely view of the blue pond emerges.
as i peered between the bark-covered trunks.
i halted and i hushed.

for perched like porcelain on the surface of the water.
stood a snow-white crane.
her beak dipped low.
as she balanced on the blue tide.
with effortless ease.
and grace.

i longed to capture her image.
and slowly.
soundlessly.
removed the cap from my camera lens.

but alas.
my presence made known.
she turned her head to my rustle.
and lifted into the wind.

her wings moved like a single feather.
up and down like a marionette.
seemingly weightless.
in flight.

as she perched on a tree branch across the pond.
i stared.
feeling oh-so-grateful.
for a moment in her presence.

++

i was curious to see.
what my camera captured.
of the great cranes flight.
and was delighted to find.
you can just see her.
on the film.

a white wisp on the water.
leaving a shadow.
and a ripple.
in her wake.

:: minutiae

as of late.

i've been wearing plaid flats.

snagging window seats at coffee shops.

and chasing rainbows through the mist.

fall echoes.

in the pulsing minutiae of daily life.