“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


where i come from

we are made of the place that birthed us, and all the places that held us close when nights were cold. we are made of stars, yes, but also the inhaled dust of all the roads we drove with the windows down. there is dirt under our fingernails that will be there forever.  to think otherwise is to still be young.

my grandfather and my youngest brother, years ago. shooting copperheads.

a cousin says blood doesn't run in our veins.
it pulsates with cherokee holy roller.


this morning is heading into a warm day, and i will be off and onto country roads, camera in hand, scribbled words in a notebook next to me.  i am lately more a writer than usual, lately melting into the texas days with ink and paper.  i am made of this place, and the stories it tells me.

suddenly - cicadas.
the sound that rocked me to sleep as a child sends me off into the day.



  1. This is truth well told; stardust and rust, breath and ink.

  2. there's something about having that dirt under your nails, beautiful

  3. gorgeously written, just fills me with its wild beauty.

  4. i often think blood doesn't run in our veins. dirt, land, trees, our childhoods, our memories....they run in our veins. the woman who adopted my mother..i am convinced her blood is mine.
    I love this, emma tree. and tears fill my eyes... we are made of the place that birthed us.
    most well written. MOST!
    my fondest, tilda

  5. Such a great photo and, as always, your writing and stories and truths that inspire.

  6. isn't it great to call yourself a writer, or a photographer, or an artist?? so freeing!!!

  7. you gotta go through life with dirt under your fingernails. it's the only way. :) xoxo

  8. Your post reminded me of my dad. He told me he got in trouble once because he and his cousin were trying to shoot copperheads with bows and arrows.
    I am from Texas, too, Ft. Worth to be exact (though I don't live there anymore)

    1. hahaha! wow! i'd be afraid to shoot an arrow at a copperhead and miss (or just graze). that would be one angry snake. ;)


come. sit under the emma tree & let's talk. i have cookies . . .