Agate Fossil Beds National Monument, 6:59 am, Aug. 21, 2017.
The sky is a blueish-gray. The sun is debating how quickly to rise in the cool, somber sky as the peacefulness of twilight arrives. The quietness of the early morning is peaceful and relaxing and I long to remain in this moment.
Human memory is a curious thing. We are constantly learning more about how our brains work, the connections it makes, and how we come to believe what truth really is.
A brown thrasher takes a momentary break from eating to check his surroundings.
Whenever I have a chance to get away from the world and be in nature I take it. It doesn’t cure my PTSD and depression, but it sure helps to keep me calm by being away from modern society and its trappings.
Many people find writing to be therapeutic. I am one of them. One key difference for me is I rarely put things down on paper to never be read again. The majority of what I write is posted publicly.
As human beings, it’s easy for us to look at the negative rather than the positive. If we make a mistake, we beat ourselves up over it. We look to blame someone or something else. The negative is easy. We should be paying attention to the little things that bring us joy and appreciation in our lives.
The left side of the desk is my side. The right side is Paul’s side. I do my online therapy from here and there are many distractions.
I walked into my therapist’s office for my usual Tuesday appointment and sat down in my usual spot. We exchanged the normal pleasantries before she said, “Irene. We need to talk.”
My brain screamed the loudest, “Fuck,” I ever heard rattle through my skull. I knew what was coming.
Over the past few weeks, I have been making a conscious effort to spent less time on the internet. It’s been a mostly successful endeavor.
Londo close up.
After a month of staying home to try and keep the coronavirus pandemic from spreading, many people are longing for the time when life can return to normal and how everything was before we started isolating at home. I don’t want to return to what normal was. I want to go someplace better.
Starr stood on the edge of the field and called to her horses. She looked left, then right, then called them again. On the third call, you could see them running toward her from a great distance. With my trusty Nikon in hand, I prepared to capture the moment. As I watched the horses, partially concealed in the tall grass, gently kicking dust up into the air, I regretted not bringing my 300mm with me and regretted more that I didn’t have an even longer lens.
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