i noticed within days that i was choosing images of escape. gypsy caravans. rooms that my teenage self would have loved, pillows scattered across the floor. color. as imperfect as my real life is, i was choosing even more imperfection. i was choosing leaving. i began an imaginary trip, images of stars overhead, makeshift tents in the backs of pickups. one day here, the next there. i began to choose rooms unlike the rooms i'd torn from the pages of magazines and saved over the years, all white and spacious; those old ideas suddenly seemed . . . controlled. suddenly untamed seemed like a better place to live.
i like pretty. i knew that. i like impractical shoes with bows and high heels. i like boots and i like things in a certain teal pale aqua color fading into green. i like girly twirly skirts. i knew all that also. i like kittens and cupcakes and polka dots and hands and i like breaking the rules. i have blue and white boxes overflowing with pictures torn from magazines, files filled with flowers and images of birds, snippets of colors, rooms of white, fields of green, the ocean, the stars, the perfectest of views from the perfectest of porches. quotes and recipes and moon shaped cookies. and yet . . .
i began to choose images of half told stories, of secrets. if i wasn't tired, i wrote the story in a sentence or two. this coat, i said, looks like the night before christmas. an old blue door told me the tale of the woman who lived behind it and when i said the birds came to visit, i knew i was writing about me. one night, in frustration at my fear of travel, i deleted my imaginary trip.
that's what i told kelly i called it,
when she said you could tell a lot about people by the images they pinned.
i said you can tell a lot about yourself also,
and i'll tell if you will.
i like the presence of life.
just a hint is all i need.
a string of fairy lights across an empty wall says woman.
snow piled on a swing says child.
i like to fill in the blanks.
presence of life.
a bird on a hand.
a fat cushion on a chair.
a jump into air, arms outstretched.
a barren tree holding the moon.
spring will come.
other people's pictures, all.
the small story each image tells becomes part of my story.
the one that says i can still surprise myself,
that i still have secrets to be discovered.
i never want to know all the answers.
i am making a map.
i am traveling.
kelly's pinterest tale is here.
you can find me on pinterest here.