Walk With Me

The purpose of art is not to send us to an alternative world but rather to return us, even as our vision has been renewed, to the realm of the ordinary
— Christine Paintner

I love to walk with my family. As a child my parents would always move us out of the house, come rain,  billowing bone-burning wind or blinding sun, we tumbled out into the world. My sisters and I would curl our mouths as if we had eaten sour grapes and we'd whine, but mum and dad would have none of that. We were made for the wild world, and into it we would tumble, until we began to find the wildness in us remembering it. We'd begin to hear and feel and smell our origins, able to be our true selves under the great sky. Out there, we would breathe heaviest, strongest, our minds settling into the ordinary swing of our bodies, becoming extraordinary as we paced to the rhythms of the earth and our own thoughts. 

So we try to push our little family out, coaxing the little boys away from the minecraft and the t.v with promises of bear hunts and adventure, for just long enough to begin to breathe deeper. We still don't get out enough, but when we do I try and remember to take it all in, sometimes with a camera. These are from Christmas Day past, reminding myself to stop and recall my vision back to the ordinary. The luminous, shimmering ordinary of a walk in the wood on the quietest day of the year...