July in Becky's Studio

Florals & Art Direction by Becky Wallace | www.beckywallace.co, Saint John, New Brunswick

Morning

Mary oliver

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches–

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead–

if it’s all you can do

to keep on trudging–

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted–

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.

Newfoundland | Entry 01

Written November 27th, 2021 | As I grow older, I notice the desire for closeness, safety, and stability only deepens. Still, I hope to never lose the part of me that calls for spontaneity, novelty, and mystery. I had let it fall dormant in the better part of the pandemic, after the hurt of loss and disappointments crowded my ability to dream, and I hadn’t seen my wide-eyed self for months. Driving off the ramp of the ferry in Port Aux Basques and into this expansive, open, and bleakly beautiful landscape that has never known me brought a full body exhale.

It’s not lost on me how the transitional periods over the last few years have been some of the most precious times of my life - the good and the painful ones too. Settling into a new chapter in Newfoundland has me more attentive and present to myself and my surroundings than I feel I have been in a while, and documenting these days has been second nature in a sense. After 959 solo miles by land & 108 nautical miles, I unpacked my bags in a little house by the sea just outside of St. John’s. Here’s to another beginning.

On Meeting A Stranger

With respect
And reverence
That the unknown
Between us
Might flower
Into discovery
And lead us
Beyond
The familiar field
Blind with the weed
Of weariness
And the old walls
Of habit.

From John O’Donohue’s “To Bless the Space Between Us”