June 30, 2026 by Bridgette

Photography: Women Are…

“She did not succumb to the battering of the brutal elements in her life. No, instead, with nourishment and strength from those surrounding her, and from her own deep, strong roots, she continued to grow; not just grow but thrive! So much so that she did not buckle under the weight that was not her own.”—Claudia

For the month of June, my model was my lovely friend Claudia. We met during sunrise, to avoid the heat, and our time together was magical. We wandered the same wooded area I had taken photos in last month, but it looked different, more golden and less dark green. I focused my camera on capturing her lovely energy, smile, and how she connects to nature.

I met Claudia when our kids started first grade together. My first memory of her is volunteering together to paint the school office. She was working hard (something I learned is how she’s wired) and we got to talking. I instantly knew she’d be someone I wanted in my life. She’s caring and kind, but doesn’t allow boundaries to be crossed. She’s a loving mother who taught her kids to speak up for themselves and is the very epitome of unconditional love.

I’ve seen my friend go through some very rough times in the last few years and really focus on healing. She’s in such a good place right now and I saw it, radiating off her (see the photos at the end for photographic evidence, maybe?) I’m really loving these sessions with my friends and can’t wait to keep growing and sharing my photos with you all.

Enjoy!

What makes you proud?
Watching my kids advocate for themselves and set boundaries, and knowing that I provide well for them, not just physical needs but in all of the ways that matter makes me really proud.

What makes you feel brave?
Reminding myself of how much healing and growth I have done these past few years makes me feel brave.

What gives you hope?
Trusting the path that the universe has set for me, believing that it has good things for me, and reminding myself that it has always taken care of me (even though I endured a lot of pain and trauma), gives me hope.

When we first starting taking photos together, I told my friend to just take a moment to look around the woods. Relax a minute and feel the energy. I snapped this shot. Although it’s most likely just a unique sun flare, my first thought when I opened the image was “did I capture her aura?” I had to share it with you all too.

And here’s some extras, just because I like them:

These were taken with my Olympus E-M1 MarkII, using several different lenses and edited with Lightroom Classic. Let me know what you think, and check out the others in this series if you missed them.

November 17, 2024 by Bridgette

Photography: Beaver Moon

For a moment I lost hope. Fear stuck in my belly and made me sick. I didn’t recognize my country anymore so I chased the moon with my camera. I couldn’t go over the pain. I couldn’t go under it. Oh no! I would have to go through it.

I’m not through it, not even close, but I found a few things to help. Rice fields at sunrise. Cranes taking flight. Gold-tinged farmland. You. We’ve got a long way to go and we need each other. So this is me holding my hand out to you. We are in this together.

“We all—adults and children, writers and readers—have an obligation to daydream. We have an obligation to imagine. It is easy to pretend that nobody can change anything, that we are in a world in which society is huge and the individual is less than nothing: an atom in a wall, a grain of rice in a rice field. But the truth is, individuals change their world over and over, individuals make the future, and they do it by imagining that things can be different.”—Neil Gaiman

*In case you didn’t recognize the reference above, it’s from the delightful children’s book We’re Going on a Bear Hunt.

As always, all photos were taken by me with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW. Let me know if you have a favorite and have a wonderful week. Only ONE full moon left! What?!!

August 28, 2024 by Bridgette

Photography: Generational Woods

Mom said she wanted witchy photos in the woods. She wanted to dance in the moonlight and howl. She wanted pointy hats and dark makeup. She wanted her vision of us to be captured forever.

What she didn’t say is generational pain lives in our bones and she wants us to be free. She didn’t say mortality knocks and time moves oh so quickly. She didn’t say let’s be stronger, my dearies, and stop letting others control our happiness. She didn’t have to.

Mom said she wanted witchy photos in the woods. I gave them to her, minus the hats.

This is for you Mom, the one who gives and loves so big, who taught me to be strong, and who carries so much and still laughs. I hope you like the photos and know how much you are loved.

“You’re breaking generational curses. That’s why this doesn’t come easy for you. You’re who your bloodline has been waiting for.” —unknown

These photos are of my mom, my daughter, and me. All photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW, except the last one and it’s a screenshot from a small video I took on my iPhone 13. My talented daughter took the photos I’m in.

December 21, 2023 by Bridgette

poetry: moths, we are

sitting across me
hands breathing fire
you burn sunflowers
into moonless shadows

remember

touch inky waves
scream amber light
open every sunroof
rotate back to you

For anyone struggling right now, but especially Cin.

December 19, 2023 by Bridgette

poetry: skinned knee

shaking from pride or nerves
never can I tell

press wound
apply greater pressure
still don’t feel it

forget deep, give me soft

fault lines carved from neglect
don’t take much to shift
plates want to move

quakes mean I’m alive

November 23, 2023 by Bridgette

poetry: moonset

masked moonlight wakes me
pulling dreams backward, inward
pulling body forward, outward
five steps and I’m outside
bare feet on weathered wood
yes, moon, what do you want
watch me descend, it says
casting legato light across waves
as sapient stars nod, blinking in agreement
what else can I do but listen

opalescent ocean dances below
sings softly of forgetting
or is it forgiving
maybe it wants me to bleed
shedding mawkish memories
dance, move, swing your arms
let go, it calls
can it be so simple

silver moon transforms
briefly mimics sunlight
before sinking
below the waves
below the horizon
below my pained core
with a final golden gasp
it calls out to me
yes, I hear you

folding, folding
I tuck the words inside—
my moonset gift
swaying, swaying
I rock with the waves
under billowy blankets
until morning comes

Note: Both of these photos are of the moon setting at around 1 a.m. If you look closely in the second one you might see stars.

September 13, 2023 by Bridgette

Poetry: 4 a.m. Walk

“You’ll never run again,” he says without looking at me. Cutting words. Biting words. Meant probably to inspire words. Didn’t mean it like that words. Nevertheless, hurting words. Shutting the door behind me, I eat my words. Chocolate-covered words that push back oceans. Candy-coated red words I keep in my purse. Fast food words meant to stop accident words and cops at my front door words and friends who don’t call any more words and razors cutting my baby’s arms words and a dad who won’t talk to me words and it’s probably time to move on words and some people I love have died words.

“I used to run,” I tell the faint sliver moon. Used to, but now my knee hurts, my hip feels tight, and there’s so much more of me. I’m too big. Too big for clothes in the regular part of the store. Too big I might break lawn chairs if I sit down too fast. Too big I must turn sideways to fit through turnstiles. Too big but still the pain swells to fit in all the cracks. Too big but still men like the one who slipped something into my drink and took me in the bathroom still look at me and smile. Too big for feeling this lost. Too big for all this love I have. Too big for all the love I don’t have.

I walk in my new bright shoes. I walk in the dark, so nobody will see me. But I see. I see how the shadow of a bush can look like a dolphin. I see how the street lights turn the gutter into a golden river. I see a tiny solar light create a white starburst across the dark pavement. I see how my breath comes easier when I move. I see how I’ve fallen in love with words and Peter Pan and vulnerability and truth. I see how pain can be stuck but then unstuck. I see how running isn’t the goal, but that nobody should ever say nevers to people they love. I see how I’m still walking. I’m still walking.

July 28, 2023 by Bridgette

poetry: town

nobody cried when sweet smoke
arrived. we soot danced, our eyes
half-open, bodies ash-drunk
on sugar promises plucked
endlessly on old guitar

strings. winding streets slowly filled
with smoke, siren calling hearts
to believe not our choking
breath, but it. singing praises
like honey symphonies, words

of control. hushing words. lies
laying beneath. it quick burns
papery thin childlike-hope
into dying embers. we
believe it all until you

speak. standing atop stacked rocks
bright hair blowing, tender eyes
locked on us, you say “listen
to the wind.” we do. it bends
flowers, stops dragonflies, sings

towns alive. go—sweep floors, hug
trees, wipe ash from foreheads,
clean water, move air. listen
to stone, earth, plant. grab my hand
tight. don’t ever let me go.

Note: Is this poem inspired by Barbenheimer? Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.