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reminiscent of snow
I have been trying to photograph a vase of baby’s breath for quite a while now. The stems were part of a larger bouquet, just filler for the fancier flowers. But as those flowers passed away, the...
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virginia seeds
Once upon a time, I sat in my father’s arm chair while my parents sat side by side on the neighboring couch. I’m not sure how this seating arrangement happened. I do remember that in the big chair I...
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what I saw this rainy day
Not a rainbow but … … I was taking a shortcut through the Boston Public Library, making my way from the Boylston Street entrance to the Dartmouth Street side. Of course I had to pause for a quick...
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Lin Nulman’s Sights of the City Haiku
Boston Public Garden Street Light When I first read Lin Nulman’s haiku, I told her that her words made me want to paint, to capture the vivid impressions she conveyed of Boston. I have yet to pick up...
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“to enter out into that silence …of a misty evening …”
Have you read Ray Bradbury’s The Pedestrian? I had not until today. Out loud. Quite moving. Amazing how some stories remain timeless, isn’t it? I also chanced upon the following video, a six...
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As a child, I had an Easy-Bake Oven …
lime and apple mint … but I did not dream of growing up to become a chef, like Jackie Hill did. Of course, I had a toy camera and I never dreamed of growing up to become a photographer. You never...
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resting
Would you believe I was restless this morning? Probably the two cups of strong coffee. I could not settle down to work with words or images. Finally I began picking through a box with writing from...
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fragile beauty
There is a time and place for everything. I guess now is a time and place in my life to collect seashells and rocks and blossoms that I let dry in the sun. As I collect these things, I ponder. Here...
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a TW interview with Terry Tempest Williams
Please, please, please treat yourself to this Talking Writing interview, “Silence is Where We Locate Our Voice,” by Lorraine Berry with Terry Tempest Williams. I consider myself quite lucky to have...
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you should write …
We spoke by phone. I sat in my kitchen in Somerville, MA while my younger brother sat outside his home in Lynchburg, VA. After I had described my latest walk by the water and what I might write...
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the music man (a vignette with 2 footnotes)
This past spring I met a man in Boston Common. He sings. I don’t remember if he had an instrument in-hand that first meeting. Most striking were his looks and that voice. Skin as dark as night. A...
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and then there are those other windows …
… some bubbled with age and double paned through which are seen such sights as red eyes staring back and which draw the hands of visiting young artists. They are portals onto worlds of concrete and...
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steve’s hands
Steve Hands for Vine Leaves Literary Journal Issue 8 The best part about having been given carte blanche to use his words and my images of him however I choose … well, it is just so much fun to say out...
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at the center of it all
It has been a hard month, a hard summer, a hard year, for so many family and friends. I read their words and hear their voices, and all I have been able to do, in the end, is absorb and listen. On...
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individual drops
“If we are a drop of water and we try to get to the ocean as only an individual drop, we will surely evaporate along the way. To arrive at the ocean, you must go as a river.” — Thich Nhat Hanh in...
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a walk in her world
Growing up in Virginia, my parents made clear quite often that “times are tight.” Many a fellow classmate wore more expensive clothes but mine were just as clean and it didn’t matter that they were...
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dona nobis pacem, a series of sights and sounds
And so the morning began with sounds. Laying in bed listening to snow slide from the roof. Over breakfast listening to Steve tell stories of his night. My brothers’ voices, one via voice mail, him...
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may i photograph your hands?
“Of course, my dear.” As he presented his hands to me – resting them on a book, waving them in the air, etc – he described the work he’d done with those hands over the years. Keith is his name and he...
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reflections
Here I am in 1996 standing by a creek in Missoula, Montana. At the time I worked with a Boston-based nonprofit conducting sustainability-themed workshops for universities. For a number of years, I...
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life in words and images
Yesterday, in a coffee-stained manilla folder, I found an old personal essay. I almost posted it on this blog but I remained indecisive about the imagery with which to pair the words. Embedded in the...
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