A Saturday in Hours.

slow, soft morning // bath pt.1 // bath pt.2 // breakfast // favorite health store // a couch I wanted to thrift (but did not) // coffee with mamabird and daddylove // making something

And so forth, a glimpse of my very lovely, plentifully good Saturday. In photos taken in over a span of eight hours. 

Energies of things.

Me and rocks and crystals. Rocks and crystals and I.

When I was a girl, I collected rocks. I'd sit in the gravel of my play-set for hours with the setting sun, looking for the strange opaque white stones. The bottom of my Aladdin shirt transformed into a makeshift basket and I'd stand and run up the hill to the house with it overflowing down my legs -- bare belly and button, out for the evening moths to see.

I can see my wild hair and yearning eyes. My knees would acquire permanent carpet burns with how fast I'd slide to reach my rock collection under the bed. Or in my closet. The dresser drawer on the bottom left. I'd often hide it; just convinced some other little girl would want the bright pink stone, tiger's eye, deep sea-blue agate, or my favorite, the huge amethyst geode. The energy I had! I'd look and gaze and stare at them.

Over the weekend, amidst our errand running, my sweet friend Kelsey and I made a stop at the most perfect rock shop. I cannot count the number of nights I'd slowly inch past with my window down, willing my vision to bore through the darkened windows trying so hard to see its entrails. Closed. It would always be closed and I'd curse my commute and it's long, drawn out itinerary. But that's a story for another time. A rant, if you will.

We looked and gazed and stared. Touched and held and poked. Geodes and agates, garnet and citrine! Enough amethyst points and Himalayan crystals to shake a stick at. I based my haul on aesthetics -- pieces I physically felt drawn to. I know they have healing properties, which I will certainly look up later. But for now they'll sit in a dainty glass box on top of lace. Or huddle close to a succulent or three. You can see a few of my picks in the top frame -- a geode half and four pieces I loved. Not pictured are a handful if little ones I plan on using for crafts. They're exquisite, take my word.

Oh my. I just read this over and my nerd is showing. But that's okay. I felt marvelous after leaving the shop. For the rest of the entire day. An extra spring in my step and everything. Sweet, positive energy down to my bones. That makes sense, because we're kind of made of this stuff, right? Energy and minerals and all that. I must stop here, I'll talk forever.

To Feel // Vol. 02

Last night I couldn't rest,

odd and out of place.

I often go out heavy.

Sleep quickly, surely arrives.

But fussy turns and tosses,

filled my side of the bed.

Then your breath, steady and rhythmic,

my very own pendulum.

I eavesdropped on your breathing,

carefully synching mine with yours.

Inhale a beat shorter than the let out.

I did the same.

And in that moment,

our energies meshed.

Together breathing, 

the sweetest mechanical thing,

letting sleep permeate my mind.

You offer me comfort, even in slumber, 

unconsciously, unknowingly, 

you are there.

A stream of nows.

It has been some time since I sat down, shoulders squared, to write freely in this space. I am unsure if I ever have. Usually my posts are planned, carefully even, being the perfectionist I am. I can't seem to kick that version of me to the curb -- it keeps around like an annoying hangnail. My whole life, right now, thirty-seven years from now. Edges are folded crisp, handwritten lists are immaculate -- else I write them again. Paragraphs read thrice to really comprehend -- I must confess here that I do understand the first time, second and third times are to feel. Words need to hit my bones or else I'm uninterested.

This mentality is more foe than companion and is not something I can just rid of. My childhood, adolescence, teenage years, were filled with straight A's and enough test anxiety to shake a stick at. Now, as a young woman busy busy with planning and wedding details, the fusspot bubbles up inside of me -- an overenthusiastic Yorkie just so impatient to get everything done, now. Perfectly. Right. Now.

But I made a vow to myself long ago to be driven by as much elegance and grace as I can. To bestow kindness to others, yes of course, but to not forget about myself. Remembering to eat meals and breathe breaths. To not fight that urge to collapse on our perfect little sofa with a cable knit throw, some tea, swirling daydreams, and a good book -- giving a mental nod to the always unexpected, always warm epiphany: all we have is time!

And I am okay, at this time, right now.

To Feel // Vol. 01

Will there ever be a time in space, in existence, where all the thoughts will be thought, every invention from then on would be stale repeats. Feelings felt, predetermined sensations. Greys and in-betweens.

Surely though, surely, I wouldn't mind one bit because if I get to feel what I feel with you, all the other replications of being, every unoriginal thing wouldn't matter at all.