Move along, there's nothing left to see

These summer days are beginning to string themselves together in my mind, a drowsy succession of iced coffees slurped with fat straws and dappled sunlight on sizzling pavement.  I've allowed myself to sink into a stupor, sprawling across my mattress in the middle of the day and thinking, I don't have to move if I don't feel like it.  Books have become my dearest friends, just like they used to be before I was swept away in the flurry of college.  I just finished my third novel in two weeks, Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood.  Words wake up in my head and swim before my eyes, leaving me breathless and heady in their wake.  I have missed their presence in my life.

I take pictures of nothing in particular.  During golden hour I sometimes drag myself into the heat, braving the mosquitoes for that perfect snapshot.  The images that result are nothing special, yet they satisfy me.  I have created something that sets one day apart from another.  For me, photography has always served as a sort of visual journal, a way to make time stand still.  Every blade of grass and lonely dandelion holds a unique place in my heart, this summer.