I fought very hard to acquire the land on which I now live. I had to fight equally as hard to save a tree, my sentry.

She’s a tall maple, over 50 feet, rather scrawny and crooked. She leans into the weather with a defiant, bring it on attitude. She rises from the ground just 25 feet from the front of my house. Going against all recommendations to cut her down, because of her proximity to my dwelling, we both remain, defiant.

​For almost 30 years now she has unceremoniously blocked fierce winds, warned me of impending storms with the rattle of her leaves and held her ground. I never regarded her as a potential threat, but as my stalwart sentry.

Last night, under a canopy of stars, I thanked her. 

Two old gals under the stars, both battered, weathered but, against all odds, still standing. We reminisced about the years of storms we endured and now with hindsight, realized it just made us grow our roots deeper and stronger. 

There are days where we are both tired…

​Then there are evenings like these, with our heads in the stars. Both conscious of our similarities and our connected presence. Tonight, how can we feel anything but gratitude for this glorious ride we call life? Bumps and all.

Live in color,

​Abby

Do you have a photo, after years of making images, that you have never shared? The reasons may be many, too personal, not mainstream enough…the list goes on.

I have such an image. My image was made back in my travel days, while visiting Dharamshala, India. This image keeps talking to me. Why is unclear. 

On a crisp March morning I decided to explore the hiking trails of the Tushita Meditation Center, located in the forested hills behind the town where His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama resides.

These hiking trails take a circuitous route through the coniferous hills. I wandered the forest surrounded by towering cedars. It was a place where I could get lost in thought, or better yet free myself from thought completely. 

I believe when one clears the mind, one becomes a receiver. Being still allows ones static to subside, making someone more susceptible to receive the waves of energy rolling in all around us. On that hike I became a high frequency receiver. 

I took the elevated trail, thinking as a photographer, to catch a view. On reflection, it’s curious how I was looking for a reward for the trek up the hill. Is that where I have come, programmed for a payoff?

Ultimately, I found no view. Instead, I stopped at a bend in the trail to just be. Looking up towards the dappled light, then down to more meandering trails, I simply took in the splendor of the moment. There were no distant views, no dreamy landscapes, nothing but time and space. 

Then they appeared.

Two monks, in deliberate step came into view. Click. Then I had a moment. Nothing exciting was going on. However, somehow I knew not to dismiss this moment.

Years later, I still return to this image, wondering why after making thousands of images this particular birds-eye image has never left my consciousness. After much examination, I found a poignancy and simplicity in the photo. This one image conveyed companionship, contemplation and communication with nature — all found at the core of my being.

Another detail arose from this image. Being a gypsy at heart, I find it difficult to stay put. Travel refines me. I need to get lost in order to be found.

Not a bad message from just one image.

So I ask you, do you have a single image with a moment that haunts you? My suggestion, go back and relive that moment. Ask yourself the Why questions. You might be astonished with what you uncover.

Live in color,

Abby

P.S. This post comes out of boredom. Boredom with posting images on social media. In the past few months I seem to be just grinding out images. This post is my attempt to slow down and to re-examine. This re-examination begins by asking those Why questions of myself, by swinging open the doors and windows of what’s left of my creative mind, allowing fresh air to waft through my musty corridors. A sort of spring cleaning for my imagination.

There once was a little girl who was simpatico with the sea. At a very young age, she accepted the water’s unpredictability and understood her moods. She found they both, had much in common. One day our young innocent could be calm and the next, filled with unrest and turmoil, not much different from Sea.

Most of her summer days were spent gliding across Sea’s surface in search of adventure. Sea never disappointed. Sea introduced our heroine to sandbars, unruly currents and the gloom of fog. Each challenging her not to compete, but to comply to Sea’s whims.

​For all her formidable years their relationship flourished. Sea taught her resilience, bravery and, the most important lesson of all, the importance of being buoyant. Fighting against the currents can lead to exhaustion, but floating allowed her to glide through most riptides.

Our little girl is now a seasoned captain of her own ship. She is forever thankful for what Sea has taught her. She visits Sea just a few times a year now, but when she does she returns to being that little girl adrift with her best friend.

Live in color,

​Abby

“I surrender,” said Birch. “Winter, you are the most powerful and formidable force. I bow before you.”

​The day was April 16th. The firewood was stored away. The wicker furniture was cleaned and brought into the screened-in porch and the buds on the trees began to swell with life. The morning air had turned warm and sweet, as the forest grew noisy with the flutter of activity, with its residents re-emerging. Then, in the darkness of night, the clouds rolled in. 

Just when I thought I figured it all out and was so sure what comes next, Mother Nature laughed.

The following morning I woke to pure beauty. Overnight, six inches of heavy, gleaming snow blanketed the landscape. Spring succumbed to Winter, which caused every creature large and small to pause.

Winter reappeared for one final grand display. The meadow was transformed into a pristine, dreamlike setting where the world, in a wink, was silenced by Grace.

​If I am to surrender to anyone or anything, let me surrender to Beauty.

​Live in color,

Abby

Why do I crave the sea?

Is it the raw, untamed elements shifting before my eyes? Or is it the fresh, intoxicating air filling my lungs? For me it’s really about the lack of human mishegas, a special kind of madness only people can manufacture.

There is a simplicity and order to a seascape. Sure, it has its moments of turmoil and unrest, but somehow I have a built-in assurance that balance will return, and it always does.

​Our world has severely lost its balance. I am deeply concerned.

In the hopes of keeping some semblance of sanity, while overwhelmed by the incessant madness, I keep returning to the sea. There I will luxuriate in her pristine beauty while yearning for our world to find its equilibrium. Then I will listen, but more importantly, learn from her unhurried wisdom.

Let there be balance.

Live in color,

​Abby

Its light is undeniable. Its intensity has been known to turn a non-believer into a born again mystic. What holds such radiant power?

The moon.

There are 12 (sometimes 13) full moons in a year. Out of those 12, probably half are clearly visible. Six times in a year, if I am very lucky, I am washed in celestial energy.

​Now that we are all in a, make the best of a bad situation scenario, the moon has become my lifeline. This silver, shimmering orb shakes me from my dull, monotonous funk, replacing it with the wonder of being alive. It’s a slap across my face from Mother Nature saying, “Snap out of it”, said with a thick Brooklyn accent.

Under the super-charged glow of January’s Wolf moon, I entered an alternate dimension. It was a space where the mundane, analytical mind shuts off. Logic was momentarily suspended and replaced with sheer amazement.

​Finally, I awoke from my dreary slumber.

Live in color,

Abby

​― Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman 

Live in color,

​Abby

There was a brilliant TV commercial years ago. A camera zooms in on a single egg. A composed yet somber voice says, “This is your brain” The camera then pans to a hot skillet sitting on a lit stove. The egg is cracked on the rim of the pan, opened and dropped in. The egg sizzles, spits and spatters. The camera focuses on the fried, burnt remains of the egg. The voice returns, “This is your brain on drugs.”

​It was a quite affective visual.

How’s your brain doing these days? Sizzling?

As autumn takes hold here in Vermont, light and color fade. For a photographer that’s like saying goodbye to your best good-time buddies from summer.

This morning instead of being greeted by cool, wafting breezes and soft autumnal forest hues, I was met by ice — hard, brittle, unforgiving, linear, patterns.

​I was confronted by the brawny voice of nature. The natural world holds both male and female sides but, I respond to the smooth and silky, feminine voice. The gentle curvy lines, the soft contemplative tones, that speak to the right side of my brain. But this morning, a different landscape appeared before me.

I saw chaos and confusion. Where did my soft, quiet place go?

This is my brain on 2020.

Live in color,

​Abby

What is your job? I don’t mean what job pays your bills, what is your heart’s work? What were you sent here to contribute?

​Standing on a jagged rock, on the coast of Maine, with majestic sweeping views in front of me, my attention kept pulling me to a single leaf behind me. Ignoring that call, I continued to click away at the grand vistas. That constant summoning to a solitary, seemingly insignificant object in the woods continued throughout the day, along with my refusal to listen. 

Like a mother fed up with her child's barrage of “why” questions, while tugging at her pant leg, I finally gave in to the relentless calls and turned to the woods. A cast of characters called to me.

A lone leaf being gently held on a pine bough.

A delicate windswept feather, finding a space to breathe on a mammoth rock.

An immature fern sprout, late to the party, as autumn settles in.

And a still life composed by nature showing her harmony and jewel-like intricacies.

We all need space. Space to truly take in a moment, space to recognize an objects inherent delicacy and most importantly space for gratitude arise.

So... never under-estimate the power of an apparently inconsequential composition.

​Not to worry, I’m here to remind you.

Live in color,

​Abby

Am I really any more than the sum of my parts? 

This thought arose from a happy bunch of sunflowers perched on my kitchen windowsill. In full bloom the sunflower is a bold and bright flower, however for me, this golden blossom only begins to get interesting when the decay process starts. Each vibrant petal begins to mutate into an exquisite, character-rich, twisted and gnarled expression of transformation.

I carefully deconstructed my sunflower, revealing much more than its many parts. It unveiled many different layers of seeing. Where do I choose to put my attention? On the whole? Or on its unique parts? Today, I chose to put my attention on its parts.

The bigger challenge in life is to recognize and nurture the beautiful and imperfect parts of all living things, without ever losing sight of their glorious whole.

Live in color,

Abby