This will be quick, friend.
Popping in to send all the merry, joyous tidings your way.
But more than that, to tell you that you've made it 51 weeks into this journey.
Whether you made images every day or only shot a handful of images, you have made it SO FAR.
Remember— you get to decide what success means from this crazy, weird, unexpected, wild year. You get to decide the story you carry with you about how you cared for yourself and your creativity. And every frame – heck, any frame – you shot this year is evidence of that.
I hope you'll take a moment to slow down this week. Look for the magic of your own life, even in the smallest things. I know I'll be holding my kids and my beloved close, soaking up every moment we get to be together.
Life is abundant, love is ever-present, and you deserve to notice and feel those truths in every way, too.
Just eight frames left, friends. What will you see?
All the love and joy to you and yours,
Kristyn
White-Eyes
– Mary Oliver
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published
In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake.
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.
So, it's over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he's done all he can.
I don't know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds—
which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent—
thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.
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