Photography

I wear your shoes

/ Janna Hill / 6 Comments

We had pulled over and began hiking a random hill in Eureka Springs Arkansas. I thought we were going for a leisurely drive so I was not dressed for such an occasion; nonetheless I followed the others up the hill. I slipped and giggled, the sound caught my son’s attention.  His eyes scanned me quickly. Seeing I was unharmed he shook his head and smiled.

“Are you wearing Mamaw’s shoes?” he asked. I nodded and laughed, brushing away the dirt and leaves before wriggling my foot back into the loafer.

“You should write about that.” He said, resuming his sure footed trek.

He did not need to say more, we both understood.

Mama's Shoes (800x484).jpg

I wear your shoes

I have your purse …

Filled with scraps of paper –

Scribblings of ancient phone numbers,

and a message from me, the old me.

I have your wallet –

Your social security card,

a useless driver’s license,

a few crinkled one dollar bills

and a handful of change.

I have your letters –

A few anyway,

Written to daddy

Unstamped envelopes with no address

Because there is no zip code

for the dead.

I wear your shoes –

Black loafers with a silver buckle

They fit my feet comfortably

But they pinch my heart

The sole, too thick with patience

and forgiveness and tolerance

Slows my step and weighs me down

The pain of the soft ebony leather

is almost more than I can bear

I place one foot in front of the other

and wonder…

Will this mile ever end?

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Taken from the poetic memoir Getting Me back (The Voices Within). Those are the actual shoes written about in the photo above.

Tomorrow morning, Sunday May 14th, I will share a [more upbeat] Mother’s Day gift with my followers (please share it with yours), in the afternoon I will  happily celebrate the day with my children (I hope you spend the day with yours), Sunday night I will cry myself to sleep knowing that next Sunday May 21st marks the fourth year of her passing. Mama & Cameron.1.jpg

Monday I will blow my nose, find something to laugh about and get busy living because that is how it should be.

The Last Man Standing

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

A blast from the [not so distant] past. The Last Man Standing has since been laid to rest and frankly I’m feeling a bit nostalgic.

Janna Hill's avatarThe Real Janna Hill in

We went for the annual camp-out this past weekend. I expected a small crowd and a somber mood considering it was our first gathering on the lake since my dear aunt left this world last June and this was her thing, she loved it.

Only thirty five or forty of us were in attendance so the crowd was small but the mood was far from somber. I should have known better than to think that.

We do not dwell on sorrow. No, we mustn’t… we cannot.  And we did not. Instead we laughed and reminisced about our rambunctious youth spent on the shores of Navarro Mills.  A time when our numbers were more, a time when strength and stamina ran hard through our veins, a time when we were too confident to recognize the gift.

Remembering makes us aware of our weakness but we remember anyway because it also brings…

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Depending on Your Perspective

/ Janna Hill / 3 Comments

Saturday I posted a photo of an approaching storm with a caption ending in “y’all forgive me but I love a good storm” and it was a very good storm… or a very bad one depending on your perspective.

After posting that photo we journeyed to my son’s home in adjacent Van Zandt county for a fish-fry and enjoyed the show from the safety of his garage. As lightening danced and crackled over the oak trees we cracked jokes, reminisced and watched crispy fillets float to the surface in vats of boiling oil. We didn’t even mind the loss of electricity; it did not affect us — we were cooking with propane.

Little did we know only miles away lives and livelihoods were being destroyed. As we were laughing ourselves to tears, others wept in fear and sorrow.

We made our way back home [to a dark but undisturbed house] as the radio blasted warnings and tales of catastrophe; declaring several tornadoes had passed through the area(s). It turns out there were seven. Seven tornadoes.

I did not perceive the impact until power was restored several days later and I could get a visual.

It definitely causes one to reflect.

These photos were taken yesterday from [almost] the same position of the one Saturday. The same southern tree line is just above this view.

I still love a good storm but lord my heart does break for all those suffering a loss. I would appreciate it if you all would take a few seconds and send a positive thought or prayer their way.

The Titmouse (A Poem & A Picture)

/ Janna Hill / 2 Comments

Q: Why The Titmouse by Ralph Waldo Emerson?

A: Because I have a few photos that need a home… and Titmouse’s are adorable.

Here was this atom in full breath,

Hurling defiance at vast death;

This scrap of valour just for play

Fronts the north-wind in waistcoat gray,

As if to shame my weak behaviour;

I greeted loud my little saviour,

‘You pet! what dost here? and what for?

In these woods, thy small Labrador,

At this pinch, wee San Salvador!

What fire burns in that little chest

So frolic, stout, and self-possest?

Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine;

Ashes and jet all hues outshine.

Why are not diamonds black and gray,

To ape thy dare-devil array?

And I affirm, the spacious North

Exists to draw thy virtue forth.

I think no virtue goes with size;

The reason of all cowardice

Is, that men are overgrown,

And, to be valiant, must come down

To the titmouse dimension.’

 

This was just a small snippet to accommodate my poor pictures. If you would like to read the poem in its entirety I borrowed it from Poem Hunter.

Oops, I almost forgot to plug Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)