east coast nests

home away from home
Be Well
details of a scoutdetails of elsewheredetails other peoples tools

seeing the world is through others eyes, through their loves, through their hobbies and routines. their home, sanctuary and tools. their memories and mementos. their habits and treasures. studying their perspective, appreciations and choices. observing the time and love and wondering at the trinkets that recall celebration. discerning the multitude of gadgets and gifts and collections jam-packed with memories of their own. discovering kinship and similarities between their walls and in the details that make up their nests… their lives… i never tire of it: the fullness of people and their stories. how beyond quick glances and brief encounters, there is so much more to ones life.

east coast nests

west to east nº2

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12th Street
East Village
East Village
East Village
westville in chelsea

west village was as bright as snow. i peeled off layers and looked down at my ankle boots. i only brought two pairs of shoes, my birks were not one of them. our inaugeral cab ride in the city was to east village en route to our second stay. the cabbie was friendly, offered dining suggestions, and basically calmed our ‘taxi cab’ fears. we tipped him well. we feasted on ethiopian, thai and chinese food, and ate twice at Westville – a stop in both east and west. we spent a very long afternoon at The Strand. i thought i lost my phone in a stack of books (we heard it ringing nearby) – i was wrong. the one place i had not checked was my back pocket. we laughed and laughed (and laughed!). she found a book on NYC etiquette. she says, “Hey gals, we’re doing it all wrong!” we laughed some more. and on the last day, it rained. like really rained, as in two-out-of-our-three-umbrellas-broke type of rain. we really felt lucky, sloshing and noshing through it all

west to east nº2

the brackets of now

your breath is the voice of your soul - Yogi Tea
his corner
“I danced along a colored wind/Dangled from a rope of sand” ― Tom Waits, Lyrics of Tom Waits
before the jump
messages to self: sway like trees. collect moments that show up at your feet. go off trail, get lost in tangled forest… in your own stream of consciousness. lean into each step with curiosity and abandon. obey your deeply wired rhythm that yearns to be fluid, and open.

if you don’t succeed, try again.

i am trying to be bold to step into (and through) fear. i am trying to find strength, to not look back or hesitate. i am trying to lean into the present, to let go, to dangle with possibility between the here and there, between yesterday and tomorrow, smack dab between the brackets of now.

the brackets of now

the gift of a day

garden details
garden details
garden details

never satisfied with letting go… never observing needs or necessity, she fuels small battles (in her mind). makes war (in her head). she begins with forced starts and ends in false beliefs. it’s a lesson she learns, again and again.

she is humbled. back at the beginning, observing the cautionary signs she did not see first time around. honoring static laws that wait patiently for her to remember. because eventually, she does.

she is fluid, open, ready. always ready. ready to dive in. because while time ticks and floats ahead, the gift of a day is always right in front of her, and light, just around the bend.

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”Do you think that I count the days? There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre

the gift of a day