Marisa

A few favorites from a shoot with Marisa.

The Last Moments Of Winter

Golden afternoons, fiery sunrises.  Grey days and sadness.  The promise of spring.

The daffodils and crocuses are just starting to peek through the earth.  How strange to see their little green buds surrounded by so much deadness!  

It won't be long now.

I sing Rosalita portuguese lullabies.  Her eyelashes collect tiny specks of dust when she sleeps.  I reach out and quietly remove them, piece by piece.  I am reminded of when I was in the ninth grade and a girl walked over to me on the second day of school and asked if she could "pet my eyelashes". 

The days are floating by.  Things happen, whether I see them or not.  A few of our chickens died.  We haven't had animal casualties in a long time, so I am feeling sad about it.  

Ben turns 26 this week.  

Dear

Dear Rosalita,

I will feel sad

the day

that your fingers stop

curling

around my finger

automatically.

Light

We wake up bathed in light.  The window next to the bed projects sunbeams onto our faces making the entire room a flood of pure gold.  It happens suddenly.  Sometimes, in the earliest morning hours, the sun hits our glass lamps in such a way that tiny pieces of light become scattered across Rosalita's neck and shoulders.  I cannot help but kiss every single speck.  They look like tiny constellations of stars; a galaxy of light that quietly envelopes her skin.