Instead of doing a 365, I have decided to do a 52 week project of words and images. I know how I am with commitment and I know how unreliable my muse is, so I think a 365 would result in me feeling too much pressure and producing material that I would just not feel happy about. With that said...here we go:
light as a feather, stiff as a board
There is a weightlessness to a youthful heart, one that has not yet been anchored down into sorrow. The newborn heart floats on gusts of possibility, carried along by the tiny little glimpses it catches of love; tugging at the mother’s skirt, a small hand swallowed by a father’s larger one. This innocent heart skips along the surface, a stone tossed into the sea, bouncing from one wave of bliss to the next. Time tears at its thin skin, drops of blood leaving a trail of loss and hurt, and we learn how to harden this organ; this pulsating orb upon which we base so many of our decisions. But we can’t help but reach back in our minds to those early moments of our lives when it seemed like there was so much to fill us up, so many beautiful strands of love to sustain our spirits. We struggle to find our balance, and our heart teeters somewhere on the brink.