Nostalgia

I tucked those moments into the scrapbook of my mind, preserving them for safe-keeping. They were pressed carefully between the pages, which is what I had done with the single, pink rose you had given me the first time we met.  A single rose is perhaps one of the most elegant gifts one can receive.  There is abundance contained in the mysterious folds of her petals, in the tiny secrets she holds close, in the delicate sweetness of her scent, more poignant than dozens of blooms.  

Opening the door to the garden of memory

Opening the door to the garden of memory

And so the memories were preserved.  Those carefree spring days in Paris, the picnic on the Quai François Mitterrand, the hidden courtyard parks in the Marais, the Pont Bir Hakeim, the Galérie Vivienne, the steps and passages in Montmartre, where all paths lead to Sacré Cœur...  In our first two weeks together, hand-in-hand we traversed the city.  

You wanted to share it all with me., all the splendor of your beloved home. We slept so deeply each night, exhausted by days filled with walking and fresh air, nights filled with moments of unleashed desire. 

Paris will never exist in my mind without you.  I learned to see her through your eyes, to taste her through your kisses, to caress her with your hands...

Timeless

Timeless

The April theme for the 12.12 Project was Nostalgia.  The first photo of this post was my submission for that theme.  

Until next time... 

Anne

The story of a life

Our lives are made up of a thousand passages across the seas of birth and death, playing out again and again, in endless motion, like the movement of the hands of the clock, like the comings and goings of the seasons.  Each winter gives way to a new spring, each ending, a new beginning.  And so it goes.

There is poetry in the progression, magic in the emergence and calm in the senescence.  

 

Last fall I gathered some fresh crabapples, bitter, nearly inedible fruit, to use in some photos.  Their colors speaking to me of the brighter days of autumn.  I stuck them in a paper sac, along with other treasures gleaned from walks along the banks of the Seine near my home.  And there the sat, during the long, grey, Parisian winter.  

Spring came, as it always does, and with its return, the crabapples blossomed once again, pale pink blossoms, luscious crimson buds.  Wanting to capture and safeguard some of their essence, I snipped a few branches and brought them home to photograph.  

It was then that I remembered the fruits I had collected last fall.  The paper sac was still on top of my armoire, thankfully undisturbed by our curious, height-seeking kitten.  She had left my sac of treasures alone.  I pulled the crabapples out and they were completely shriveled on the stems, but, to my pleasant surprise, well-preserved.  And as you can see, a photo series was born.  

Life story, part I:  Waiting  "It is at the edge of the petal that love waits."  ~William Carlos Williams

Life story, part I:  Waiting

"It is at the edge of the petal that love waits."  ~William Carlos Williams

Life story, part II:  Opening  "My body's been touched a thousand or more times, but I am craving something so much deeper than that.  I desire to be felt, right down to the core of my soul and the corners of my heart.  That's what love is all about, isn't it?  Cracking yourself open to the possibility that it could change your life."  ~ Nikki Rowe  "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom."  ~ Anais Nin   

Life story, part II:  Opening

"My body's been touched a thousand or more times, but I am craving something so much deeper than that.  I desire to be felt, right down to the core of my soul and the corners of my heart.  That's what love is all about, isn't it?  Cracking yourself open to the possibility that it could change your life."  ~ Nikki Rowe

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom."  ~ Anais Nin

 

Life story, part III:  Sensual decay  “Decline is also a form of voluptuousness, just like growth. Autumn is just as sensual as springtime. There is as much greatness in dying as in procreation.”  ―  Iwan Goll    

Life story, part III:  Sensual decay

“Decline is also a form of voluptuousness, just like growth. Autumn is just as sensual as springtime. There is as much greatness in dying as in procreation.” 
― Iwan Goll

 

In this season of growth and promise and abundance, I am reminded of the fact that the wheels are forever in motion.  This prompts me to slow down and savor.  And photography gives me a vehicle for preserving the character of the moment.

Until next time,

Anne

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