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Friday, October 19, 2012

{this moment} : : one


A little late today, but managing to join Soulemama 
and many others with a savory moment from the week.
: : 
Feel welcome to leave your {moment} link 
in the comments below.
: : 
Have a safe and happy weekend!

Friday, October 5, 2012

{this moment} : : leafing


Joining Soulemama again with a sweet moment from the week.
Feel free to share yours in the comments below.
Have a safe and happy weekend!

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Pigeon at Play

There were many afternoons lately when Mother looked around and realized she might never become the person she'd always imagined herself to be. She sank into the thought like an uncomfortable chair, avoiding its sharp edges and sticky corners. Sometimes it made her sad. But then she looked at Pigeon and thought that it would be alright, if she could teach him to be less afraid, and not to wait for someday.

Pigeon was good at enjoying today. He seemed to believe that such days existed for that purpose only. He smiled all day long. He laughed a lot. He ate (bananas), he drank (milk), and was indeed very merry (with the chairs and the curtains).

It was fun to watch.

And Pigeon liked to be watched, and to be laughed with. His smile was an open invitation that Mother always tried to take.

She had thought she would give him the world to enjoy. That was silly. He already had that.

Friday, September 7, 2012

{this moment} : : goodnight, moon

Joining Soulemama 
with another 
moment from our week.

: :

Feel welcome to leave a link 
to your moment 
in the comments below.

: :

A safe and happy 
weekend to all...

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Pigeon's Kitchen Wish


Pigeon had learned to open drawers, and how to pull things out of them. Soon he learned he could also open the doors in the kitchen, like Mother. And then nothing was safe. (Including Pigeon.)

Father bought latches to keep Pigeon out of the dangerous doors. But they didn't fit. So Mother ended up moving Pigeon out of reach of the doors just as many times as he could open them. (Which was a lot.)

When Pigeon found the spinning door, they feared for his little fingertips. (Which got pinched.)

But it's a good skill, to be able to get to things, Mother said. And she tried not to interrupt him unless absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, she watched closely in case the absolutely necessity came suddenly upon them. Sometimes she forgot to blink.

It so happened that the spinny cabinet held a very shiny bowl. Pigeon thought it might be fun to play with it.

Maybe even more fun, thought Mother, than opening and closing the cabinet doors.


She gave him the bowl, and a pan, and a spoon.

banging
stirring

rolling
Pigeon thought it was a fine way to spend an afternoon.
And mother had a chance to blink, to clean up, and even to make some memories.


She thought about Pigeon's birthday, just a few weeks away. Wouldn't you like a cabinet of your own? she asked him. And some Pigeon-sized pots and pans, and a spoon?

His smile said yes. And with all the people who loved to see Pigeon smile, there was a good chance he would have a kitchen of his own before too long--a nice safe kitchen. (Cabinets and all.)

Friday, August 24, 2012

{this moment} : : found

Joining Soulemama once again 
with a moment from our week.
: :
Feel welcome to share
your moment below.
: :
~a happy, safe weekend to all~

Friday, August 10, 2012

{this moment} : : big & little



Joining Soulemama once again 
with a moment from our week.

: :

Feel welcome to share
your moment below.

: :

~a happy, safe weekend to all~

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

The Drought

Mother looked out over the pond at the ridges of green, reedy grasses and snowy tufts of Queen Anne's Lace. So lush within a stone's throw, though the grass outside the door pricked her feet like hay stubble and was just as yellow-brown.

She was thankful again for the tiny pond and all the life it supported. The corn in the neighboring fields was lost, but the weeping willows and evergreens at the edge of Pigeon's pond showed no fear the festering drought. Pigeon's first summer had been almost as dry and dusty as the the desert Mother and Father had left behind the year before. But their little pond held on, growing thick, tall grasses where its borders had shrunk back from the heat. There were two muskrats now, busy building and rebuilding their den; the herons still wobbled and waded through the water's edge; the ducklings, now grown, squabbled over territory; and something gigantic and striped glided, silent, up and over and under the surface, newly visible in the receding shallows.

It did not rain.

Pigeon's family carried on, escaping to the seashore, visiting family, and meeting more of their neighbors. Mother tried not to think of the ugly autumn the drought had in store for them.

.

Last week Mother frowned when she stepped outdoors and noticed for the first time that a sandy edge had appeared around the rim of the pond. The water had dropped 3 inches overnight.

This is bad, she whispered to Pigeon. She was glad he couldn't understand. The fish will die. The pond will dry up. When she kissed his head, it felt like a prayer. 

The next day clouds came through as they had for months, thick, black, promising--and empty. A cloud broke and spit down a few fat drops which the air sucked up before the grass could taste them. But later when Father was home enough rain fell to stick to the patio in puddles. It kept falling and puddling. It dripped from the trees. They went to bed happy and hopeful. The rain on the walls of the house woke Father. The thunder woke Pigeon. Pigeon woke Mother. No one got any sleep. In the morning the rain was still falling gently. The clouds remained to protect their gift from the greedy sun. 

Mother smiled when she saw the pond; the sandy ring around the rim had disappeared--for the time being. 

She thought that words could be like rain, coming down in sheets one season and refusing to appear the next. They could pass overhead without falling to soil for months, even when most needed and expected. They could splatter down, violent and sparse, on half-formed thoughts in the field of her mind, and come to nothing. And they could suddenly run again, effortless, to fill in the dry edges and revive the inspiration that was always there, waiting. The real rains would return, she believed, in time.

Friday, May 4, 2012

{this moment} : : sunny


Joining Soulemama and many others
with a special moment from the week.

Feel free to share your own 
'moment' link in the comments below.

Happy weekend!

Pigeon's Lonely Duckling

Scout
Father was the first to see the new ducklings. It was late evening in late April, and the sun had just tipped the sky towards twilight. Come look! he cried,  pointing out to the pond. Mother and Pigeon came and squinted out into the pinkish dusk. They heard them before they saw them, squawking and squabbling at the muddy edges of the water. Mama ducks and papa ducks were grouped together in families at different corners of the pond, nuzzling at swarms of tiny little heads bobbing up and down at their flanks. Father grabbed the camera, and Mother found some old stale bread. Pigeon held on tight to her shoulder, and down they went to welcome their new friends.

Pigeon watching & being watched

The mama ducks heard them coming. They honked and hollered and high-tailed it away across the pond, nudging and knocking their little ones into line beside them.

It's what I would do if some large, strange creatures were coming at me with my babies, Mother thought. They waited at the water's edge, their feet sinking into the mud, and watched. The papas nudged and flapped the little yellow balls of fuzz into the water, let them swim, and nudged them out again. Mamas led their troops to food. Babies followed close beside, the occasional slow-poke scuttling over the water to catch up to his family as they circled the pond. But the ducks would not come close to Pigeon's family.

Oh, well, let's leave them some food, Mother said to Pigeon. Maybe they will decide we are friendly and come back tomorrow. She scattered torn bits of bread over the shallow inlet, and they went inside.

The next day, the ducks did come back. When Mother spied a family nibbling the grasses at their bank, she took Pigeon and a few slices of bread back down to the water's edge. This time the mamas did not swim away. This time, they came closer. They were not afraid. Pigeon pulled at the grass and sucked on his toes while Mother counted ten ducklings. They named the mama Lucinda. Another duck family came by, with a papa. They looked more like a Mathilda and Jack. Their babies were still little, but quite a bit older than the others.

Lucinda
Mathilda and Jack

Lucinda's babies
Mathilda & Jack's children


That evening while Pigeon napped, Mother and Father heard a howling. At first they thought it was Pigeon, awake in his bed. But it was coming from the thicket beyond the pond. They listened for a long time and worried over the ducklings. Father wanted to protect them, but their was nothing he could do.

And then Pigeon's family left town for a few days. When they returned they didn't see any ducks at all. But it was a stormy day, and they weren't surprised. But the day after that was sunny and calm, and the pond was still very quiet. Finally Mother spied a lone mama duck. Was it Lucinda? Let's take her some bread, she said to Pigeon. Maybe the ducks found another friendly bank while we were away. Maybe if we feed this mama, she will bring her babies back...

But when they got to the pond's edge, they saw she wasn't entirely alone. And she wasn't Lucinda. This mama was much smaller and thin. Close to her side was one lonely little duckling. He looked much younger than Mathilda and Jack's children. Where are your brothers and sisters? Mother asked. Where are your friends, your uncles and aunts? But of course, the duckling didn't answer.

The pair seemed pleased for the bits of bread Pigeon had brought. They ate for a long time, even wandering up into the grass with webbed feet to nibble the stray crumbs that had fallen there. Maybe they will bring back their friends tomorrow, Mother said.

The next day the thin mama duck was back, and beside her the same small, lonely duckling. But the only other duck to join them was an emerald-headed papa, also smaller and thinner than the others. Mother hurried to take them some bread. Mother noticed how the papa duck let the other two eat before he did. He looked like a Gordon. The mama was Pearl. And the lonely little duckling had to be Scout.

Pearl & Gordon with Scout
Was he (she?) a sole survivor? A sweet little runt, needing extra days at mama's side? Perhaps the thin, quiet couple had adopted little Scout. Whatever their story, Mother was happy to show them some hospitality, for she was the mama of one lonely little bird herself. These ducks were a family, and they were willing to break bread with Pigeon and his parents. And if they were all that was left of the flurry of life that had erupted on the doorstep a week before, well, then they needed a safe, friendly bank to find their feet on. Pigeon's pond was indeed a place where a lonely bird could find a friend, a patch of mud warm in the sunshine, and a few scraps of bread to share.

Friday, April 27, 2012

{this moment} : : nuzzling


After a long pause, joining Soulemama and many others 
to share a memorable moment from the week.

Leave a link to your own moment 
in the comments below.

A safe and happy weekend to you all!

Friday, March 23, 2012

{this moment} : : Pigeon and peas

Joining Soulemama and other mamas in sharing a savorable moment from the week...


Feel welcome to share your moment link in the comments below.
Happy weekend!

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

A New Spoon for Pigeon

Pigeon sat in Mother's lap and watched her eat. His eyes and mouth were open wide. He leaned his chin in whichever direction the food was, watched it disappear into Mother's mouth, then flashed her a beseeching glance tinged with despair. It seemed to him that the world was full of more colorful and delicious things to eat than plain, white milk--and they were always just out of his reach.

But you are too young, Mother tried to explain. I would share with you if I could. And she meant it. She could see Pigeon was curious, and she sensed this was good. But most things, maybe all things besides milk, were too strong for a four-month-old belly.

But then, Pigeon was nearly five months old. And the look in his eyes made Mother feel guilty. So, while Father went to the store, Mother found a package of Pigeon-sized spoons and a very small dish she could use for a bowl. Father came back with the tiniest jar of sweet potatoes he could find. Just a spoonful or two will do it, she said, stirring the orange paste into the dish.

They sat Pigeon on the table in his special blue chair with the tray and fastened a bib behind his neck to keep him clean and dry. Then Pigeon ate. He ate with gusto and joy and anticipation. And though he wasn't any expert at swallowing, it didn't take him long to finish his meal.

A few days later, Mother pulled out a new chair for Pigeon to eat in. It was larger, more comfy, with an even bigger tray for his bowl and spoon. When the potatoes were gone, Pigeon got to taste bananas. In the cupboard waited even more treats: carrots and peas, pears, and peaches... Just a few of the foods just fit for a Pigeon. Aren't we lucky, Mother said, to have so many delicious things to eat? For plain white milk was all well and good, but the rainbow of fruits that came from the earth, the textures and flavors and their endless combinations, could do more than feed the body. Food brings people together, Mother said. It certainly brought her close to her Pigeon. We must know it's a gift, she thought, and be thankful.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

{this moment} : : independence

Joining Soulemama & countless others
with a single moment from the week
for savoring & safekeeping.

: :

Feel welcome 
to share your moment 
by linking in the comments below.

: :

Wishing a 
warm & happy weekend
to all!

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Pigeon's Early Spring

In Pigeon's yard there is a hill. At the bottom of the hill leans a slim, young willow. The willow's branches dangle over a pond. Beyond the pond there is a thicket. The thicket borders a small, square meadow. At the edge of the meadow stands a tall, proud tree. Under the tree sits a still, brown cow. And the sun shines over them all.

The heat of the sun was a new thing for Pigeon, who had been outside many times before, but had never gone barefoot; he'd never wiggled his toes in the grass, nor felt the warm breeze delight the buttery-white skin of his arms. The sun had never been strong enough to turn Pigeon's cheeks pink or prickle his brow with sweat; he'd known only the crisp autumn air and the weak winter light.

But this week, the sun shone brave and bold and hot, and though there was a wind, it was a warm, welcoming kind that coaxed people out of their doors and buds out of their branches. Some trees wore half-sprouted blossoms like broaches; others were wrapped in a gauzy green mist. This early burst of life set the birds singing, the bees buzzing, and the daffodils blooming. After noting how unusual, how lucky and welcome the warmth was, there was nothing left to do but enjoy it. And so Pigeon and Mother went out in the yard; they walked down the hill and stood under the willow. They followed the path between the pond and the thicket, gazed at the meadow, and bowed to the trees. They sat with their faces to the warmth of the sun, as contented and quiet as the still, brown cow. And the Love shone over them all.

Friday, March 9, 2012

{this moment} : : where we live



 Joining Soulemama with a
moment from our week 
for savoring & safekeeping.

: :

Feel welcome to share your
{moment} & comment below.

: :

A safe & happy 
weekend to you all...

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

A March Wind for Pigeon

There was an old saying, Mother said, that March would come in like a lion, roaring and tearing things up with its restless power. On the second day of March, Pigeon was napping when the lion opened his mouth in the sky overhead and announced his arrival. His breath bent the trees to the grass and raked the sides of Pigeon's house like a thousand magnificent claws.  

Hush, little baby. It is only the wind.

But the wind gave way to the lion's roar, a sound like the sky splitting in two. Out of the crack spilled beads of ice that pelted the roof like broken glass. Pigeon watched it bounce off the concrete and collect in the cracks of the patio.

Hush, sweet angel. It is nothing but hail.

Pigeon watched the hail dissolve into a curtain of water. For a moment its rushing was all they could hear. Light like the flash from Mother's camera burst in the air over the pond, where even the water was blown to one side to make way for the hard March storm.

Hush, little one, it is just the lightning and rain.

And then, as quickly as he'd come, the lion had passed. Pigeon could hear his rumbling trail off in the distance, could see his banner of flickering light retreating.

Later Mother and Father saw pictures of a darker path March had torn to the south. They sucked in their breath at the destruction and the sadness already sewn in the spring almost upon them.

But there was another half to the saying, Mother said, that March would go out like a lamb, with a warm breath on gentle breezes and a step too light to be noticed. March would skip without guile through their yard with crocuses draped around his neck like silk ribbons, give way to April with its gentler rain and tender budding branches. Lions and lambs, storms and sun, destruction and redemption, death and life and the promise of new beginnings.

Hold on, precious child. The Light is coming.

Friday, March 2, 2012

{this moment} : : camping in

Pigeon's Mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:
"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."

We'd love to see your moment as well!
Share your link in the comments below...
Happy weekend!

Friday, February 24, 2012

{this moment} : : oversized

Pigeon's Mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:
"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."


We would love to share your moment, too!
Leave your link in the comment section below...
Happy weekend!

Friday, February 17, 2012

Valentines for Pigeon : : 2012

At just four months plus one day old, February 14th didn't mean much to Pigeon yet. It meant more to Mother now that she had a Pigeon to make a valentine for. Truthfully, what she really liked about it was the idea of making valentines with Pigeon--for cousins, neighbors, grandparents, friends... But little Pigeon wasn't quite ready for that.

Someday you will make a Valentine's mailbox, Mother said. She remembered making her own in school when she was a little girl, how they all had to bring in a shoebox on a special day during Valentine's week. The whole class would decorate together in a frenzy of pink and red construction paper, white paper doilies, and glittering stickers in the shapes of hearts. A teacher or room mother would help cut a slit in the top for deliveries, and the post boxes would sit on the desks during the Valentine party.

We were allowed to have sweets at our parties, back then, she said. Parents would send in cupcakes and cookies on trays. And you could still tape chocolate hearts to your valentines... In anticipation of a cupcake or a foil-wrapped sweet, the kids would run around delivering their messages and treats to the shoe boxes. Each person would bring cards for everyone else in the class; it was the one day when you might get something nice said to you (in writing!) from someone who didn't usually like you very much. For a whole afternoon, at least, everyone felt safe and important, showered with love and friendship and hope. 

Anyway, I like you VERY much, Mother thought, looking at Pigeon while he slept. And so she used a little money she'd set aside to buy him a valentine--a new book for his library. At the bookstore she'd browsed the shelves of the Valentine's display, but found the holiday books scant in story and fat in price. Instead she found a book on another shelf that made her smile, for it was about two friends and their adventures together. The pictures were familiar to her, by one of her favorite illustrators. This is Valentine enough for me, she thought, even if it isn't done in pink and red.

Mother also bought Father a carton of tea and a nice broad mug for his new office. The next day she wrapped everything up in red and white, gathered up the cards that had come in the mail, and set them out on the table before Father came home for supper.

Later Pigeon helped peel the tissue paper away from his gift and ran his hands with happiness over the glossy cover picture of Frog and Toad on their bicycle. Mother and Father were both delighted at Pigeon's early love of books. This one has a whole week's worth of new stories in it, all in one book, Mother said. Pigeon also got cards from people all over the country. The grandparents and great-grandparents tucked money into their notes for Pigeon's piggy bank. Cousin Emily wrote him a special note with the new writing she'd learned in school. Father was pleased over his tea; Mother got a card and a sack full of coffee (the type she was too cheap to buy for herself) and smiled.

That night they read about Frog and Toad and snuggled in bed, and soon Pigeon was once again asleep and dreaming. Mother was glad to have this chance to delight him with simple gifts, when everything to him was new and exciting, and he wasn't burdened with the thought of giving her anything in return. How wonderful, she thought about Pigeon, to be so happy, so free to enjoy what is simple, to be able to give so much to the world without trying.

{this moment} : : daddy time

Pigeon's Mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:
"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."


We'd love to share your moment, too!
Leave a link in the comments below. Happy weekend!

Friday, February 10, 2012

{this moment} : : towering

Pigeon's Mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:
"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."


We'd love to share your moment, too!
Leave a link in the comments below. Happy weekend!

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Pigeon Sleeps

Mother watched Pigeon sleep and wondered at his peacefulness. The long lashes, the rosy cheeks, and the eyelids like crocus petals with their lavender shine--these things, plus the occasional contented smile and sigh, spoke to his health and happiness, and for these she was grateful. Pigeon's pudgy fingers, as usual, lay close to Mother's chest, clutching at her shirt collar and grazing her skin with his knuckles. Sometimes when he slept Pigeon would slip his hand under the fabric and rest his palm on the soft place between her shoulder and collar bone. She didn't mind that he wanted to know she was there, that it made him feel safe and secure in the world. It was one of the simpler gifts she could give him, free for the taking while it was wanted and needed.

With these sorts of habits for Pigeon's naps, Mother had less time to get things done in the day. But she supposed the sweetness would run out in time, as Pigeon learned to run about on his feet and run a life of his own away from her side; so, it wasn't bad to enjoy what she had of it now. When Pigeon did finally fly away, she knew she'd be proud and happy and sad. She would, when it happened, remember this-- the sound of his breath and the feel of his heart, the little fingers grasping to be sure she was there. She hoped by then he'd know without doubts that no matter how far away he went, or she went, her love would always be there for him.

Friday, February 3, 2012

{this moment} : : friends

Pigeon's Mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:
"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."
We'd love to share your moment, too! Leave a link in the comments below. Happy weekend!
 
 

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Mondays with Pigeon : : The Bookstore Cafe

Mondays were Father's day off, which made Mondays a day for family. Pigeon was glad when they were all at home together. It meant that he got twice as many cuddles and had twice as many people to play and blow razz-berries with. And when Father was home, Pigeon could lie in his arms instead of the crib when Mother needed both arms, elbows, and all ten fingers to get something done. It also meant that they all would probably go somewhere exciting together, to a place full of kitsch, and people, and the clanging of spoons on glass. This Monday, they went to a place full of books.

Mummy and Daddy used to come here on dates, Mother whispered. Around them quiet people bent over stacks of good things to read, their hands wrapped around steaming paper cups that smelled like mornings at Pigeon's house. The three of them waded through a sea of tables and chairs to a glass counter full of little cookies and cakes. A brownie and a small coffee, Mother said to Father, looking down into the glass. Pigeon knew that word. Coffee. It went with the smell he'd recognized.

At their table, Pigeon stood in Mother's lap and explored the place with shining eyes. Soon Father joined them, bringing cups and plates full of delicious-smelling things that Pigeon wanted to eat, but couldn't. First you must grow teeth, Mother said. Pigeon smacked his lips and watched her bite into a fudgy brownie. Father had an apple tart.

Mother took Pigeon for a walk through the stacks and towers of books, walls of shiny spines splashed with words which people stared at with scrunched-up noses. They came to a cheerful space filled with soft, bright colors and happy children. Here were some of the same books that Mother read to Pigeon at home! There were also many more than that. Pigeon thought he might like to have one of each. In the end, Mother picked a book full of birds and one about a curious little monkey named George.

Back at their table, Pigeon ran his hand over the glossy yellow cover and chattered at the pictures of the little ape, who apparently liked to wiggle as much as Pigeon did. Mother read to him for a little while, then took him for another walk. Though he fought and fought, Pigeon couldn't stop his eyes from closing. Soon he drifted off into a dream. It was hard not to feel cozy in a place full of books, surrounded by the people he loved...

Friday, January 27, 2012

{this moment} : : winter reading

Pigeon's Mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:
"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."
We'd love to share your moment, too! Leave a link in the comments below. Happy weekend!

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Pigeon's Pond


For the first time in a long while, Pigeon slept later than his mother did. When he woke, she was already showered and dressed, with her coffee made and his milk warmed. The blind next to their morning chair was open, and down on the pond another furry friend was munching his breakfast on a thin ledge of ice. Mother decided he must be a muskrat and not a beaver, because beavers were supposedly much too big to perch on a membrane of frozen water without causing it to crack. Pigeon finished his milk long before the creature gave up his nibbling, and was fast asleep when the animal slipped back down into the gray water and swam across to his den of branches and twigs on the other side of the pond. Mother was sorry not to have her camera close by before he disappeared.

Pigeon was lucky to live in this place, where so much wildlife paraded about right outside his window. There were two pairs of ducks--four feathery friends who floated leisurely around the pond's marshy edge and fished together in the mornings; gaggles of geese that came and went in a flurry of feathers, black and gray; the muskrat, who swam through the water without nearly a ripple; and the coyote who visited when food was scarce.

There were many other sorts of small birds, and no doubt fish and frogs that Pigeon hadn't met yet. And there was mother's favorite, the stately, slate-colored heron who came out whenever it rained. He'd turn his head slowly on his long, thin neck, lifting his knobby-kneed legs out of the water one at a time to step gingerly through the marsh, stabbing the surface with a bayonet beak.

video

It surprised Mother that so many creatures stayed by the pond in winter, especially the birds. When spring came, Pigeon could visit the water's edge, listen for peepers, and look at the muskrat's den up close. For now they would simply watch from their window, snuggled safe in their chair, waiting and warming each other through the final thaw and the gradual greening of the earth.

Friday, January 20, 2012

{this moment} : : Bundled and Striped

Pigeon's mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:
"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."

Friday, January 13, 2012

{this moment} : : surrender

Pigeon's mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:

"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."