springtime in february
While a gift to have a 70 degree day on the first of February (particularly given the series of storms last year at this time), it is a most likely the result of the changing climate with confused seasons and an unpredictable forecast.
While a gift to have a 70 degree day on the first of February (particularly given the series of storms last year at this time), it is a most likely the result of the changing climate with confused seasons and an unpredictable forecast. To say it was impossible to remain indoors was an understatement, particularly when there's a deep awareness that this isn't going to last.
boat and lines | marblehead, ma, 2016
the sketch
I am without words to aptly put the year behind into some kind of focus ... let alone a context to all the life that's been lived.
I am without words to aptly put the year behind into some kind of focus ... let alone a context to all the life that's been lived. Given the tendency at this time of year to make sense of what’s past, I think we are naturally inclined to understand our truths; to thoughtfully reflect on what felt like triumphs; to make sense of those times when the shadows were a little darker and days felt a little heavy. That by doing so, perhaps we can infuse what lies ahead into a mirage we cling to in our minds - that bit of nirvana we hope and pray for in our day to day. But when I think back to the bits I remember of last year at this time in thinking about the year ahead, I can only recall a desire to sense an impression - to sketch an outline instead of a shape. Yes I had hopes and wishes and goals yet they were trivialities in the grand scope of the review mirror for I could not have even in my wildest imagined all I've experienced. So on the second to last day of this year, I am reviewing all that was; retracing the steps, recalling the sights and sounds, the faces and places and spaces ... the seeds of last year's grains cast to the wind for the year ahead.
three months of bliss
the last days of white light ... a golden luminescence that begins in a long stretch to neverland and its buried gifts.
the last days of white light ... a golden luminescence that begins in a long stretch to neverland and its buried gifts. i long to press rewind/play ... to dig again for the treasures i've found along the way. for despite the hooks and reels and sweat and tear of exhaustion, it is the wonderment of sand, salt and spray that catches my breath. it is the burrowing my feet into sand and shell bits, turning my face into the endless spray, dipping my toes into waters near and far.
the tide swirl, holgate. long beach island | 2015
i've often felt a heavy heart as this season of wonderland fades, clinging onto each last moment despite the ever subtle wave of chill on the breeze. and though i will most likely pass a few tears at the magnificence of all this time held for me, i will drink in the memories with a long deep breath and release them back. for though this time of year is perhaps the most difficult to let go of, it is because its nectar was so sweet.
Wells Blog
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