On autumnal beauty

Nature is beautiful all times of the year to me, but I especially love the stark, rich melancholy that is autumn, when light fades early and the branches get bright and vivid, and then spindly and skeletal. Spooky beauty, dusted with sadness that everything fades with the passing of time. There’s this grass garden at my local arboretum that’s especially subtle when it comes to the passing of time. Who knew that bunches of grass planted together could be so lovely? Different hues of green and gold, a mix of textures: feathery, papery, silky. I’ve been stalking this garden all

Sometimes I just like to make beautiful things

The day I took this, I was visiting my dad in the rehabilitation hospital, where he’s re-learning how to walk. It was that liminal hour, sort of evening/sunset, and the sky really was this rosy and pink all around me. It was so magical; life felt enchanted despite everything. This is from early, early morning, and I woke up to the sound of wind rustling at the windows. I instantly grabbed my iPod touch and shot this from my bed. [vimeo clip_id=”30970009″ width=”640″ height=”360″] This is more goofy than pretty, but I vowed a bit ago to document my own

On equanimity

I’ve been spending a lot of time in hospitals lately. High-pitched, loudly insistent beeps, spindly yet durable equipment, and nurses in bright, shapeless scrubs in cheerful, insistent patterns, their voices equally cheerful and insistent. The hallways are bright and there’s a dispenser of anti-bacterial solution around every corner. In the room over a man lay in a coma, and his family spoke in loud voices, insisting that he’d had enough beauty sleep and needed to wake up soon. There’s a woman in the waiting room who’d been camping out there for about a week, her son in a coma as