It Felt Good Getting Back To Me

I've had such a peaceful week. I picked up my camera for me and took pictures for me. I purposely focused manually so I could teach myself to slow down and breathe steadily as I slowly pressed the shutter button. I looked for different layers inside the petals of the bunch of ranunculus I treated myself to one afternoon after running errands, all the different nuances inside each bud, the way they curled upon each other, holding themselves close. I looked for the way the light hid herself or danced topside along the petal's edge. Each flower took on a different personality as I moved my lens around each one, the pink bud being the flamboyant, "look at me!" flower, the white blossom being the soft and elegant blossom.

It felt good carefully focusing this week.

I caught up on magazines. I gazed out the windows. I listened to birdsong and re-discovered the long hidden songs of the spring peepers as they awakened from their long winter's hibernation as I walked Langley alongside the creek in the late afternoons. After nearly two weeks of rain, the cow pastures are greening up again and there are fresh green leaves sprouting on Christopher's rose bush in his garden just outside the backdoor (and where I can see it blooming from the kitchen later on this spring). 

I re-vamped my portfolio website, giving it a much needed spring cleaning. I cleaned the house, opening up the windows to let the fresh breeze blow in before rushing to shut them again as the rain began to pour down. I ran errands, making a woman stop and look over her shoulder at the store she just left and having her remark, "I never woulda thought that Target would be something to photograph", as I hunkered down on the curb and put the camera to my eye. I laughed and told her, "Yeah, it's kinda what I do."

It felt good doing my thing this week.

I finished an on-line class I was taking, gleaning more info from the PDF than the how-to videos that accompanied the class. I read a book about the Mitford sisters, gradually getting closer and closer to the end so I can begin the new book next to my spot on the sofa in the living room. Those sisters were quite a bunch. I baked a cake, a cake that, all told, contains a quart of heavy cream and ten cups of chocolate chips. It's like eating solid fudge (and I also need to practice my drizzling skills).

It felt good baking just for fun this week.

I looked out the window and daydreamed instead of picking up my phone and scrolling through newsfeeds.

I read magazines in the evening instead of scrolling through endless pictures of other people's lives.

I created for me instead of posting for others.

It felt good getting back to me.