Tag: seasons

  • Fragrance, Memory, and the Air Between

    Fragrance, Memory, and the Air Between

    The Quiet Power of Things That Don’t Stay

    Mimosa (Albizia julibrissin). Lumix GX7, Panasonic Leica DG Macro-Elmarit 45mm f/2.8 ASPH. MEGA O.I.S., Lightroom Mobile (watermark), VSCO.

    Not everything soft is weak.

    Not everything brief is forgotten.

    The mimosa blooms like a passing thought—pink, feathery, fragrant, gone before you’re ready. But even in its short season, it rewrites the air.

    And maybe that’s the point:

    To offer sweetness without needing permanence. To make magic in the margins.

    💚🌿✨

    Mimosa (Albizia julibrissin). Lumix GX7, Panasonic Leica DG Macro-Elmarit 45mm f/2.8 ASPH. MEGA O.I.S., Lightroom Mobile (watermark), VSCO.

    The Mimosa tree (Albizia julibrissin) is commonly known as the silk tree or Persian silk tree. Albizia julibrissin isn’t actually a true mimosa—though it’s been lovingly misnamed for generations. Native to Asia, this delicate tree has made its way into southern landscapes with grace and stubbornness alike.

    Its blooms are light as breath—powdery tufts that attract butterflies, bees, and human daydreamers. They bloom at dusk, shimmer in the wind, and drop silently—often leaving a petal-scattered sidewalk like a love note no one signed.

    Mimosa (Albizia julibrissin). Lumix GX7, Panasonic Leica DG Macro-Elmarit 45mm f/2.8 ASPH. MEGA O.I.S., Lightroom Mobile (watermark), VSCO.

    Though it’s sometimes called invasive, there’s no denying its presence feels like a portal: part nostalgia, part perfume, part dream.

    Its scientific name, julibrissin, comes from the Persian gul-i abrisham—“silk flower.” A name that suits it perfectly.

    Mimosa (Albizia julibrissin). Lumix GX7, Panasonic Leica DG Macro-Elmarit 45mm f/2.8 ASPH. MEGA O.I.S., Lightroom Mobile (watermark), VSCO.

    In folk medicine—especially within Traditional Chinese Medicine—the mimosa tree is known as the “Tree of Happiness.” Its fragrant pink blossoms and bark have long been used to lift the spirit, ease grief, calm the heart, and quiet a restless mind.

    The flowers are brewed into gentle teas, while the bark is sometimes tinctured for deeper emotional support. Often given to those moving through sorrow or heartbreak, the mimosa is considered a natural ally for joy, resilience, and emotional rebirth.

    #Nature // #Mimosa // #TreeOfHappiness

  • Seeing Red.

    Seeing Red.

    entry four — scattered light, fractured grace: a quiet archive of light, loss, and what remains.

    I used to think “seeing red” meant I was losing it.

    Rage. Shame. Fury so old it felt eternal—like I was born with it burning.

    I have learned that is not always true. I have witnessed that sometimes, it blooms.

    Recipe below. Watermarked in Lightroom.

    Not in fists. Not in voice. Not in overwhelming memories.

    In the woods, on a soft stem I almost missed.

    No thunder. No soundtrack. Just the quiet permission to stop and look again.

    Recipe below. Watermarked in Lightroom.

    It didn’t demand to be captured. It didn’t beg to be picked. It just was.

    This star-shaped wound of a flower, humming its red into the green—not angry, not hiding, not burning just to survive.

    Just be-ing.

    Recipe below. Watermarked in Lightroom.

    I thought, “maybe that’s all any of us need now.”

    Not vengeance. Not closure. Just the knowing that beauty still rises where no one’s watching.

    That peace can wear red and still be holy.


    “Seeing Red” Recipe (same for each photo in this series)

    Be mindful.

    Observe.

    You might catch a glimpse of the peace behind the red you see, too.

    xo,

    c.

  • Higher-Self.

    Higher-Self.

    If You’re Looking for You | A Letter from Your Higher Self

    If you’ve been trying to speak to your higher self—if you’ve been reaching inward and hearing nothing but static, or searching for the version of you that feels like home—and fear you’ll never find it?

    Your higher self begs to differ.

    In fact, it has a message for you.


    Dear One,

    I’ve been here the whole time.

    In the quiet moments you almost forgot to notice. In the breath that steadied you before the next wave came. In the flicker of clarity just before you gave up.

    You’ve looked for me in a thousand places—in approval. In achievement. In distraction. In someone else’s eyes. In the longing that never quite gave you what you needed.

    And I never blamed you for that.

    This world taught you to search everywhere but within. But I have always been here. You may not recognize me right away, because I don’t raise my voice. I won’t argue with your fears. I won’t fight the chaos to be heard.

    But I am patient.

    I speak in the language of peace, and I wait for your permission to return. I know what you’ve carried. I know what has made your heart weary. I’ve felt every ache and echo, every quiet panic, every time you swallowed your truth just to survive the moment. I’ve felt the loneliness, even in crowded rooms. The pressure. The shame. The masks.

    But let me say this clearly:

    There is nothing wrong with you. You are not broken. You are becoming. Your tenderness is not a weakness. Your depth is not a burden. Your need for rest is not laziness. Your yearning for more is not greed—it’s remembrance.

    You are remembering what it feels like to be whole. You came here for more than survival. You came to wake up. To remember your own name, not the one the world gave you, but the one your soul has always carried.

    You came to love in a way that rewrites timelines. To rise without leaving your softness behind. To walk with grace, even after everything tried to make you hard.

    So here’s what I need you to know:

    You are safe now. You don’t have to perform anymore. You don’t have to shrink. You don’t have to apologize for being too much or not enough. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to change. You are allowed to outgrow the stories that once kept you warm.

    You are allowed to come home to yourself. And when you do—when you drop back into your center and remember me—you will feel it: The stillness. The truth. The freedom. It’s not something you earn. It’s something you return to.

    I’m here. I always have been.

    Welcome back.

    ~Your Higher Self

    entry three — scattered light, fractured grace: a quiet archive of light, loss, and what remains.

    entry three, full view.
  • Fall Flowers 

    Fall Flowers 

    I love fall flowers…I love how they feel like summer’s last hoorah, or perhaps Mother Nature’s final gift before the long, cold winter…

    When the season of death is upon us, both literally and figuratively, in nature and in life, I think we are often give this gift but tend to take it for granted.

    I suppose that’s why I shoot so many details, and so many natural things…I wish to bring them back to the consciousness of those who live a sadder life because they’re forgotten them…or just become too complacent to see the gifts and the beaut that is always right before them.

    Enjoy these flowers, and have a blessed and beautiful day.

    *all images processed using Mextures

    2015-10-15_14448680282015-10-15_14448680122015-10-15_14448679922015-10-15_14448679712015-10-15_14448679542015-10-11_14445742372015-09-27_14433647082015-09-25_1443219447

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • summer 🔥 heat 

    summer 🔥 heat 

    ~ summer🔥heat ~
    ~ b u r n 🔥 b a b y 🔥 b u r n ~
    Vision: Lumix GX7, Leica Macro Lens
    Tools: Mextures (formula BJRKZVU)
    (Both Images)