Woodland Mysteries

The woods.  They feature prominently in so many stories.  Fairytales, myths, legends -- hundreds of opportunities to experience something other-worldly. 

There is a great and marvelous magic about a wooded forest, from its leaf strewn floor, damp mingling with dusty-crunch, to the beams of sunlight filtering through moss-coated branches overhead, dust sparkling in the air like fairy glitter.  The woods bode lovely things, mysterious things, the natural world inviting you into a deeper one brimming over of secret, inner imaginings full of life and strangeness and delicate, yet powerful beauty.

My heart of hearts longs for this.  It always has.  It's why as a child I was drawn to films such as Willow and The Neverending Story and The Dark Crystal.  There is a soul-aspect that speaks to dreams and of mystery, and I find myself falling into that deeper place any time I walk in the woods.  It's an invitation to something higher and truer, a place where sparkles on water allude to dancing fairies and falling leaves hint at creatures beyond the wildest imaginings.

“Etheria”
by Sarah Lagon

As if caught within the most beautiful dream,
A vision of untouched majesty only gods could scheme —
The likes of which whisper promise of mischief quite supreme —
Lies far behind the sunset's blinding gleam

A forest beyond jagged mountain pass or gently rolling hill,
Lazily idling into that sleepy Autumnal still
Which precedes the bite of winter chill,
Where curious beasts wander at will

Capricious and cocksure creatures without fear
Which, if inattentive clod be ambling near,
Need only one swift moment to disappear
And slip softly by that untrained ear

But if, perchance, observed by wayward passerby
The mystic glint of dewy fading light might belie —
Perhaps some subtle trick of the eye —
A slight presence there where faeries lie

Friends & Sisters: a day in Chattanooga, Tennessee

Saturdays (if done properly) are lovely, luscious things, filled as they are with connection, and good food, and the kind of soul rest that is born of deep sighs, belly laughter, and inside jokes. 

American teenagers know how to do this kind of Saturday better than anyone I know.  Too mature to cling to childhood, but as yet still inexperienced and gorgeously and righteously ignorant of adult nonsense, a coven of teenage girls knows more than anyone the value of a proper Saturday, the kind of day that is spent truly together, with headphones and ice cream, and a semblance of external entertainment that is less important than the fellowship of shared ideals and interests.

This is the sort of Saturday that is sacred and worthy of protection -- for the memories induced will be lifelong and lasting, the kind of day the adult self will look back on with wistful remembrance of everything good and holy and desirable.

Life is Better By the Sea

My family, like so many families this summer, recently headed to the beach, to Cape San Blas, a heavenly peninsula in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico.  It was a time of merciless sun and breathtaking sunsets, salty air, coconut-scented sunscreen mingled with sweet sweat, sand clinging to damp skin, wind-dried hair, half-consumed water bottles strewn about, wet towels draped over every available surface, and gluttonous quantities of fried clams, seafood chowder, fresh shrimp, and tartar sauce drenched fish.

Life is better by the sea.

While there, in the throws of vacation ecstasy, we spun out cotton-candy dream-plans to make the ocean our permanent, year-round, lifelong destination.  We'd buy a two-bedroom cottage with an ocean view, purchase infinite numbers of shorts and tank tops, and have a weekly bonfire on the beach.  To pay the bills, my husband would get his ordination license and together, he and I would do weddings and elopements for visiting couples:  he would perform the ceremonies, and I would photograph them.  (My friend Jan, who was also at the beach with us, volunteered for the job of wedding coordinator).

Life is better by the sea

We miss it already, that semi-limbo, almost surreal monotone that one drifts through when one's seemingly endless days are filled with the delicious monotony of early morning swim-float sessions, casual sandwich-and-potato-chip lunches, afternoon naps, and sunset seashell hunting, sand and sea foam pooling between bare toes and eddying around ankles.  Life now, having been away from the ocean for right at a week, is taking on again that hard bite of reality, of laundry and chores and "day jobs".

Oh the harsh, harsh reality of day jobs!

Life is better by the sea.

All that lingers are fading tan lines, worn flip-flips, and peeling, sand-scoured feet.  And photographs.  And Memories.  And smiles of reminiscence. 

"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea." - Isak Dinesen

Want to see even more from our trip to the beach?  Head on over to my Instagram where you'll find every wonderful thing fully documented in pure photographic glory -- including photos of that amazing food we overindulged in (not to be missed):  Lauren Bee on Instagram.