and who knows what else…
It began subtly. First, I was looking for this. Then, I began looking for that. You know how it is. This led to the question, “Why me? Why now?” We know how this ends. Right?
I stopped everything I was doing and decided to go outside and clean out a storage area to the right of my casita, which I had moved into almost a year ago. I had decided to take a broom and rake to it a few times since I moved in, but…
When I opened the side gate to the area…
well, most of the time…
A few posts ago I had written a post and was searching through Unsplash for the “perfect” image. I wanted one that would mirror my writing, coalesce my thoughts, and be a compelling image.
Then, just at that precise moment, She nudged me on the shoulder, whispering, “What about that one?”
I immediately saw that image as She did! I first tried to discount it as luck. No deal.
You can call it coincidence, spirit, that darn muse, or whatever, but it rattled my mental hard-drive and I went right to the image…
I wondered what else was going on…
Let’s set the scene:
I was photographing a workshop a few years ago and had just arrived at the location. Once out of my car I noticed another pulling up next to mine. A woman exited the passenger side and was on her phone. I remember her words very clearly:
“What are you talking about,” she said the person on the other end of the conversation.
“I can’t just leave, because I agreed to do this and there are only three of us.”
• Aside: At this time, I figured out she was…
answering the call…
I was called to the bench this morning,
and as you might guess and willingly I obliged
wondering what was going on that was so insistent
as I sat down with my coffee and notebook.
I looked around to see nothing until I looked up
to see a dove on a high wire seemingly
calling my name and wondering
what took me so long.
She jerked her head left and right
as if checking if anyone else was watching
maybe a brother or sister, who knows
why she sat there for a solid four minutes.
and I can’t turn away…
The Winding of the Watch
I am called to write now,
placing words on paper,
with pen in hand and heart
beating, to a whisper of words
written in warmth and depth
seldom voiced and much less
shared to ignorant ears and
doubting minds of the power
of the compassion in each letter
forming select words, working
their way into a semblance
of structure, not for or me
but for the muse that beckons
and pouts when I turn my head
toward a different direction
in the hope of silence…
Silence that never comes
on providing an avenue for exposure…
A couple of months ago myself and a few other people were at a restaurant after a gallery opening. While we were there having snacks, drinks, and very good discussions the topic of my photography publication, Shadow & Light Magazine, came up.
At the time I only knew about half the people who were seated at the table, but several of them have become friends. One of them, Susanna Kearny, asked if I would like to see a picture she had recently taken while on a visit to her childhood home.
As you might…
with Her looking over my shoulder…
It is my duty to sit on the morning bench and reflect on my life, whether it is to remember yesterday or to find sketches of an almost dead and gone childhood.
Today I sit on the morning bench to offer thanks for several things, the fist of which is to the tree across the alley that greets me every morning. It stands tall and proud, with branches strong and true.
It is there very morning as I open the door and breathe in the crisp, refreshing air of the morning. …
but don’t die to find out…
It happened a few years back when there was a memorial for my oldest brother’s wife who had died.
My brother called me and asked if I would come and help him with the memorial as well as with a gathering to be held after the occasion at his house.
I arrived a few days earlier and we talked about many things, including whether the place he had chosen for the memorial was going to be too large for the small group he had planned on coming. Throughout the day prior the occasion, family…
Tim Anderson is a published Albuquerque writer/artist/photographer/blogger/publisher.