Singer. Songwriter. Friend.
Photoshoot & hopefully some whiskey. She said she’d bring a half drunk bottle. Fitting -that’s fitting for the song.
I wake up with it in my head. And then the piano starts up and I’m watching gently drifting snowflakes make their way to the glass windowpane. I feel like some romantic hoodlum in that angsty book my pal gave me – full of women with money. I’ve got the angst – where’s my damn money?
Hearts breaking. Longing for a past that won’t fit. We know a bit about that around here. So we made some dresses. Set up a shoot. And it’s threatening a bit of snow.
Colors that look like: a broken heart and some 1890s lace. angst I tell you.
A combo of gratitudes & favorite things:
too much coffee.
dreams. of cottages. and getting rid of stuff.
rituals making me capable of thinking things like: I can get rid of that now – all that stuff. I carry some things with me. In my skin.
Fancy Granola and dinners with new friends filled with discussions on books, philosophy, wine, and ponderings on turning dreams into real live tangible things.
Simple things in life turning out.
Not knowing how some things will turn.
The unknown. Some small moments I find breath there too.