Black and white thinking.

A path less traveled, a photo more edited, taken at Good Earth State Park.

I'm sitting in the kitchen of our lovely 1950's house reveling in the quiet. Keystrokes on a soft clacking keyboard, a helicopter, a conscious breath or two and the knock of something distant and hidden in the house: these sounds are my companions.
It's a lovely, lonely moment, which is something I appreciate about quiet and photography among many other arts. It's the experience of contrast within a moment, captured in a piece of art. I feel gratitude to the Creator for such moments.
It is in such a moment, in such a state of awareness, that I reach out. I stretch my self toward the stillness. In such moments I am more aware of frailty and I am simply more aware and able to be so. These times have contrast. They have a quality not unlike a black and white photo. During such moments paths through a murky field of what's possible become imaginable. 
This is when imagination finds root within. It gets watered, or pruned and strengthened and sometimes it dies within me at these times of contrast, these times of awareness. Yet even that hope, the one that dies from a shallow root, gives space and time for a new root to grow. I do so love these moments of human awareness, knowing that I Am Spirit on a Human Journey, that the imagination and the space to have one are key to my Being.
Something to love, something to learn, joy to have. These times give voice to dreams and unheard of realities which remain so until I write.