We walked. The rivulets running across the path were choked with layers of leaves, mud and twigs, and thick, dark clumps stuck to the sides of my boots. I hugged my camera to my belly and hopped across rocks through deeper, freely running waters. They ran ahead, but I lingered at the sides of the path. Brittle mushroom skins covered a tree with brown, curling scales. I stooped to feel...

An extremely pierced, pretty woman watched from the other side of the glass as we approached from the street. She pushed a grey button on the wall to release the door, and we walked inside **Fathom Creative**. The **instant dc** exhibit was spread out across the walls of the second floor space, and I spent the next 45 minutes geeking out over the work, entirely comprised of iPhoneography. If I...

This is my office away from the office. Wooden bowls on my windowsill hold treasures gathered and formed by little hands.

We have many nests in our home. They are filled with rocks, shells, eggs, toys, and husks. The cicada husk reminds me of one hot summer in Virginia when my daughter was small and the cicadas flew thick and loud. I found the fuzzy bee body on the back deck one fall morning, but I haven’t had the time to figure out its species.

A sign hangs at the beginning of the long driveway, but I only catch the first word, Woods, white painted letters on dark pine. We pass fenced pastures dotted with small barns and stands of tall trees, only tufts of orange and brown leaves left at their very tops, their bodies spare streaks below. The horses lift their heads as we pass. We park under an old maple and haul...

When we are here there is no hurrying and no herding and no lunch-packing, no prying small hands off of my body, no pushes toward the school door, no blue eyes full of longing to be home. We walk along the bay bottom at low tide and dig, and we poke at slimy things with long sticks. We pick up the hermit crabs, and we talk about how we love...

Four cousins who had never met became fast friends. The brothers gave a free concert to the frogs in the pond, and the frogs gave a free concert back to the brothers. And I floated barefoot through the clover and whispered to the fireflies, and refilled my margarita glass once or twice.

I turned 37 years old on an eastbound Metro train. Two German women sat talking across the aisle from me. I caught every tenth word or so. A Vietnam veteran and his family waved from the front of the car, thanking me again for guiding them through their passcard purchase back at the Vienna station. A warm and little six year-old hand rested on my belly skin for comfort. I...

This morning we discovered in a most comical way that my eight year old is a grapheme-color synesthete, meaning that, in her mind, each letter of the alphabet has a color associated with it. Words have colors, too, usually based on their first letter but not always. Watch the video for an explanation of our discovery, and a demonstration. I am amazed that I have been her mother for eight...

Last week we sat together on a single chair at Starbucks, waiting for our Frappucino. I piled her long limbs into my lap and circled her with my arms, holding in her angles and big feet. I rubbed my nose into her hair, and she closed her eyes. “You two are so in love,” said a woman to us in passing. “That’s so rare to see.” She lingered in the...