What pain can do your world. Butterfly, black and white.
I hurt, and I’m so tired…
Bubbles. I love soap bubbles, shimmery iridescent floating spheres. I miss the days of soap dispensers with liquid soap instead of luxury foam, because it’s so much harder to blow a bubble out of your fist for a child when it’s foamy soap.
Bright flowers, which seem to attract me as well as the butterflies I like to photograph.
My camera, such a powerful tool. Maybe one day I will put it to work in the service of something bigger than flowers and bugs…
Colored pens, a joy to write even nothing with… and tolerable even to write something with, like the endless travails of homework.
The smell of dinner cooking when I walk in the door after a long day.
Fresh cookies, so hot they scorch, still so soft they are hard to handle.
Any soft, horizontal, and safe surface after I’ve been conscious more than 5 hours.
Sweet sunlight of peach-orange-pineapple smoothies.
Wind on my face, from a breeze to practically gale-force; even the air is nearly alive in this wonderful world.
The feel of an icicle, a smooth spear of water-glass, slicker than one from a warmer climate would have thought possible, and more dangerous and beautiful as well.
Snow falling in dizzy spirals from the light gray winter sky.
Trees patterning leaves against the sky.
The feel of tree bark, sometimes smooth, sometimes so furrowed I can climb straight up without branches.
Worn red edges, towering castles, juddering shoulders of rock in a desert, shaped by wind and rain into an austere landscape of persevering loveliness.
Winter sunrise, a bowl of a sky so fragile a shout might break it, that lovely frozen dome of growing light.
Playing a piece of music, in an orchestra: the sudden roar of noise and delight at the work so intense you could scream from the thrill, gold fire of brass and mahogany of the deep strings soaring together with the frantic blue piping of high winds.
Butterflies, flit gleams of color on wings.