What Happens When Loss Shifts Our Story and How to Write a New One There was a long silence in me that happened last year, a quiet that overtook my words and inspirations. I was lost in a failing relationship. If we were two trees in a forest, I was bent in a graceful arch always giving, while he stood tall and straight. There was no dancing in the breeze indicating an equal give and take.
On the northern coast of Florida lies a community reminiscent of the Greek Isles with a touch of southern Spain. A whitewashed village of homes transports you out of the norm and lands you in a realm of quiet and class.
The golden city of Jaisalmer is a labyrinth of stone and sunlight. Its greatest feature, the Jaisalmer Fort rises out of a hill, rolling through the cloudless sky with a wave of curved outer walls. Built from yellow sandstone, it glows in the heart of Thar desert.
There is a time in late spring where women weave through flowers. Kimonos of color mirror the latest bloom in silk stitches. The trees are in celebration, decorating Kyoto with a sea of cherry blossoms.
Want to win? Now through Wednesday, March 15 , 2017 11:59pm EST you can enter to win a fine art photography print! You will receive a 12×18 print of “Hen Hideout“, a photo taken in Bhaktapur, Nepal.
If one ventures out into the wintry north, you can see the shores of Sleeping Bear Dunes painted white. Wearing ice cleats to have a sturdy pace, we made our way to the Lake Michigan Overlook to view them in January.
Wind whips my hair into a crazy tentacle frenzy as we ride into the desert. The windows are all down in the Bolero that zips past dry clouds of golden dust and Indian music filled with sitar and drums crackles out of the speakers. Cows create traffic jams on the otherwise empty road that leads us to our campsite. Suddenly we arrive to our oasis where we will join in a camel safari and all worries as to whether it would be the right decision dissolve. Beautiful grounds spread before us where peacocks strut in the brush and pink desert flowers bloom outside of our tent.
The ancient city of Bhaktapur is a jewel in the rough. On the outskirts of town, one could pass by without knowing what lies hidden within its unassuming walls. Hopping off the public bus with no shortage of colorful hanging beads and Bollywood beats, we wandered down the street looking for our guesthouse.
My next trip to Nepal, Bhutan and India seemed so far away at one point, slowly edging their way into my present. Now the trip is picking up speed and soon I’ll be flying over snow-capped mountains. Back home it is fall in Michigan, I’ve been savoring the season I missed on my year long journey across oceans. It was also slow to appear this year with warm weather reaching far into October. I caught it earlier up north while exploring Mackinac Island, Tahquamenon Falls, and Tawas.
There is a shift that happens when one leaves and returns, especially when that space is over the span of a year around the world. Some of the friends you missed so much still seem far away during first conversations. You become a short-lived novelty, a talking point that lasts for an intro and then it’s back to the latest local gossip or next best thing on Netflix.
