Cold Night

This picture was taken three nights ago when I was helping Julian make his picture movie. (His personal project)




Frost! It's cute and sparkly, though not as much in this photo as it looked to my eyes. That's the joy of photography, isn't it?

First good photo in a while

Took this picture a couple days ago. It was the perfect lighting, right near the end of the sun-day, and by the time we had hiked back down to the bottom of the path it was dark.
Plus, it was the third time I've been there and I'm getting more in shape! ;)

I hope it's satisfyingly descriptive

The weight of some sort of existential-depressive crisis has hit me today like a lead-beaded sledgehammer, soft bong bong bong of heartsrtings that seem stretchy enough to withstand, and not break with, each impact. Or was that someone banging on the fortress walls I've built without noticing? But of course, they've not noticed either....

For Grandpapa:

Fall away from here,
Go and hide your soul
Bury it in the warm sands of His love

Falling up,
The good ones are always falling up
Wrenching out hearts as they fall
We love you so
Ascend

You finished your life's work
And left us to puzzle over it
Unappreciative of your art
Watch us learn, wait patiently
As we, inspired, build up

Did you know where you fit?
A wise too for His work
We may look, but not see

Your eyes are bright
As we rise to the occasion
Hoping to catch your dreams
In the clouds of your love

Falling up
We can't stop you
Only climb higher in our lives
To achieve His ends
In your honour

Where do I belong?

Oh goodness, I am in reformulation at this very moment. I no longer want the same.

My life is much more straightforward, listening to the right music to feed my soul.

This playground I had abandoned, in a fit of grown-up illusions when I thought I no longer fit this. And my need. Though maybe I have... but today I youthen back to that simple need.

I've become much enamored with writing, but not the kind I used to do here. I hope one day to keep this as my notebook. A place of comfort, like one of those leatherbound notebooks with creamy pages inviting you to dive in the ink of your thoughts without reserve, without pretense, without the relative non-comfort of interfacing with the foreign. Of course, dreams live in the clouds, far from my childish reach. Today I feel as though I were floating, so maybe I am closer.