When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? Psalm 8:3-4


I like fall and winter, they are my favorites. No strong disdain towards the other two, fall and winter are just my thing.

The clothes they inspire, the colors, the possibility of magic falling, death which springs forth the possibility of new life, the permission to stand close…

Oh, how I like being in love in fall and winter. For me they are seasons of love… literally. All of my 5 serious relationships were birthed in fall, thrived in winter and slowly, but surely, died in spring or summer. Maybe that is why my taste buds are a bit sour towards spring and summer… it is possible, I guess.


I, however, am learning this summer that I don’t like winter in summer and fall in spring. I prefer them to take their rightful place in the cycle of life. It is a strange feeling to mentally know it is 100 degrees around you sun BLAZING in Nashville, while the inside of me feels like New York in winter or Christmas in July or the pregnant possibilities of spring.

Photography has been a way for me to receive moments to remain present in the realities of the day at hand and see, really see, what the particular season I am in offers. I receive at least a few minutes every day to collect tangible memories with a camera, so days or months from now I will be able to look back and see the God was been mindful of me. At times, when in the crazy mixed up moments of life, it is too easy to forget.

Searching a photography blog for inspiration this morning, I came across this quote and figured this is why I landed there…

“The seasons remind me that I must keep changing. And I want to change because it is God’s way…I want to keep my soul fertile for the changes so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind is made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently. Only the good stories have the characters different at the end than they were at the beginning. And the closest thing I can liken life to is a book, the way it stretches out on paper, page after page, as if to trick the mind into thinking it isn’t all happening at once.

Life has pressed you and me into a book, too, this tiny chapter we share together…Everything we were is no more, and what we will become, will become what was. This is from where the story stems, the stuff of its construction lying at our feet like cut strips of philosophy. I sometimes look into the endless heavens, the cosmos of which we cannot find the edge, and ask God what it means. Did You really do all of this to dazzle us? Do You really keep it shifting, rolling round in the pinions to stave off boredom? God forbid Your glory would be our distraction. And God forbid we would ignore Your glory.”
-donald miller