find me where winter waters flow
honey thick. where ferns weave baskets
cradling colored stones. listen for songs
dripping down cave walls, tiny fairy feet
dancing delicately on crushed shells, soft
foamy voices calling your name. follow
them. do not despair as earthen gravity
releases you. let go. reach through murky
darkness until our fingertips merge. hold
tight as our toes taste stars. I’m beside
you watching our bubbly breath connect
inside and outside. beautifully untethered.
hold this, please
while I wander underwater
where softness grows
where muted heartbeats
dance
look closer, bend
see tiger stripes gleaming
where fire resides
where boldness bellows
sings
become mermaid, dive
unfold each lovely bloom
where water renews
where bells chime
live
“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”—Heraclitus
Our bodies hold onto pain and memory. We can feel it take root within our bones and we can either address or ignore it. I’ve spent the last five years ignoring it, but recently I’ve taken up swimming daily. This practice is slowly returning me to my body. No longer a stranger, we are becoming one again. Pain and all.
I share this and these photos as part of the journey of rediscovery. Look closer. Look again. You might see something different.
I’d love to know if you have a favorite image. I secretly have my favorite. Can you guess?
floating weightless
I watch two lifeguards
change places, ground to tower
first
all bodies counted
all bodies noticed
all bodies
mine has waited
years upon years
for me to notice
belly breath
for me to return
heart filled
welcome back
we say
together
reunited
it can look selfish
this way I’m living
looking for love
through a camera lens
through the way my thighs move when I dance
through the way my chest rises when I sing
but it’s survival
like the lone daffodil blooming in January
a waning moon at dawn
the first dandelion puff
the cluster of fuzzy buds on the bare peach tree
we are all looking
in Winter
in all Winters
it lays dormant inside
domed darkness
you walk past it looking nowhere
anywhere, but not there
never there
yet it goes still
growing bedrock feral
mushroom bellied
lichen ferocious
trapping pain web-like
crackling like ice
smelling like bruised desperation
like untouched skin
like hot ash scattered by eroded winds
you don’t need to see
to feel
you walk faster looking nowhere
anywhere, but not there
never there
yet it goes still
like tides
like movement
Spring saplings tap-dancing
on rooted tiptoes
daffodils issuing battle cries
thrusting spears upward
dandelion puffs cooing
dreaming light again
there’s a light somewhere
he says
your nested winds sigh
your meadow grasses rustle
your waters ripple gently
just a bit longer
you tell your forest
hold tight
You’ve walked this trail a hundred times before. Usually, you have a hand to hold or a baby strapped to your chest. Tonight, you are alone. It’s not until you see milky clouds streaking across the sky you realize how weird the woods have become. A rabbit darts across the trail and the word “mad” comes to mind. We are all mad here.
Shifting your weight and shaking your head, you decide it’s the light causing everything to look wrong. Despite it being winter you feel warm and take off your jacket. A wolf howls nearby, but you aren’t scared. You listen as the sound echoes off the black skeletal trees. The branches reach toward the full moon. You feel yourself doing the same. You sway in place, moving with the wind. The moonlight feels good when it enters. Vast.
“As if you were on fire from within.
The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”
—Pablo Neruda
When you fail to capture the full moon properly with your camera, you create something different. I hope you enjoyed these moody shots and let me know if you have a favorite. Although I promised myself no challenges this year, I’m going to photograph every full moon. Maybe I’ll get better.
These photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.
“How blue is the sea, how blue is the sky,
how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you,
even your eyes, even your imagination.”
—Mary Oliver, Why I Wake Early
I’ve not been posting much. I’ve not been reading much. I’ve started rewriting my middle-grade novel, a fictional adventure story of Thor’s daughter. This means I will be less active here for a bit, but I’m not going away. I’m still around. I’m still moving.
These photos are from a brief trip I took yesterday to pick up my son in Chico. The sky showed me all the ways blue can be and how many clouds it can hold. I only found one spot to pull over as many of the sideroads were flooded from the recent storm, but I like these photos. They tell a story. Which one speaks to you?
When children are small you can sprinkle nutritional yeast on millet and tell them it’s fairy dust. With a word, it becomes so. Such is the power of language. What if we could do the same with our dreams? Here’s a poem and flash fiction rambling on about such things. Let me know what you think.
perched on a purple wall
staring at my sleeping child
what do you see shadow bird?
do you see. see like me?
my grandfather became cloud
grandmother became butterfly.
I sit in her chair. I sing with his voice.
what will be left for her when I, transform?
maybe I become you.
maybe I watch from a wall.
flying with one word.
staying with another. word.
dream me alive. over and over and over.
clove and nutmeg. owl spreading wings.
forest hears, nothing.
another dream
One night during a dream of chaos and war a woman gives birth to a baby with hair the color of fresh snow. The baby blinks at the woman with eyes as green as ancient ferns and coos like a dove. What if instead of forgetting the baby when she woke the woman decides to name her Mabel and she becomes as real as coffee.
The woman dresses the dream baby in clothes the color of fresh marigolds and wears her close to her chest in a carrier woven of the softest wool. She takes the baby out into the rain and her laugh becomes lightning. The world sparks around them and glows brighter.
The plants in the woman’s house grow with the baby—greener and taller, greener and taller until the woman is forced to cut through them with a large knife, like an explorer in a jungle. She and the baby laugh at the silliness of it as birds make nests in her living room and a family of rabbits discovers the perfect place to live within her closet.
They spend most days outdoors so Mabel can make the grass thicker, the trees taller, and the flowers bolder. The neighbors don’t know what’s making their gardens grow and the woman decides not to tell them. Not everyone believes as strongly as she does and she fears their disbelief will pull the child away.
When Mabel starts walking the woman takes her outside in the middle of the night and upon seeing the full moon the child begins to sing. The tiny lilting notes cause the stars to dance and the moon to move closer and closer to the Earth. The woman knows this won’t go unnoticed and will have terrible consequences, but she hesitates to act because love defies logic and gravity. Love defies most things.
Mabel however makes the choice for her, wiggling out of her grasp and floating toward the moon. The baby with hair as white as snow returns back into the dream where she was born and the woman walks home alone. Her house feels different but she smiles the same because Mabel is as real as coffee and her physical absence changes nothing. She wraps herself in wool and dream walks to visit her child.
Such is the power of language. And love.
“Be melting snow.
Wash yourself of yourself.”
—Rumi
Come with me as we explore Tahoe during a slight snowstorm. Which photo speaks to you?
*Photos taken with Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
Bridgette Tales 