This Photographer is seeking clarity & being lifted.

In the ever-inspiring 'Expressive Photography' Tracey Clark asks:

'Do we shoot, saddled with our sorrow, or jubilant with joy, allowing our intimate vulnerabilities to be exposed through our work? Or, do we instead shoot through our exhaustion and despite our weariness in order to seek some kind of clarity powerful enough to lift us from our fog? Perhaps it's all dependent on what we need more at the moment we click-- to express ourselves or to save ourselves'.

I chose the latter, in an attempt to be lifted and freed from an entirely unnecessary guilt.

I happily agreed when my sister asked if I wanted to join her in housesitting at a friend's. A giddy golden retriever greeted us at the door, and I'm sure the cats were happy to see us, too. Although it was a mere 15 minutes from my parent's house, I needed the escape.

We pulled into the gravel drive-way and I hopped out of the car with my camera ready to take it all in. Just the sight of the old stone home lifted my spirits. Realizing how much stress I was carrying, I was consciously turning the deflated sighs I'd been releasing on the drive into deep, full breaths. I needed the warm autumn wind to soothe me.

My sister made her way inside and I turned to face the road. Perfectly framed by the glowing green leaves was the sun. I was being lifted. This was what I came for and I knew there was most certainly more to be found.

I entered the sunroom of this rustic place. Immediately, I noticed that the familiar musty cottage smell filled the air. I explored, moved in and embraced the cozy nooks. Books lined the shelves, antiques adorned the walls and portraits from yesteryears sat erect. I looked at myself in mirror of the dark room and felt calm as the fading light poured through the windows.

Everything about the house was inviting, begging to be taken in. The hardwood floor creaked beneath my feet, chopped wood lay beside the house's wood stove ready for the cold nights to come, and quilts were draped over the chairs waiting to be snuggled in. Oil lamps sat beside each other on the living room's mantel, stirring romantic ideas of older, simpler times.

Outside was a whole new magical world, for both the child and adult in me. With the cat in tow and my sister leading the way, I followed as we slowly made our way around the property.

I climbed trees, testing my limits. How high I could get?

I peered down the narrow, dug out tunnels that functioned as short passageways from one part of the property to the other, obviously dug out by the previous owners. An intensely mysterious and secret world for a child, right? A bit too small and creepy, for my tastes, although I certainly appreciated the uniqueness of it all. Something about secret passageways.

I delighted in the potentials of the large, unattended garden bed. Raspberries still hung from the vine, green grapes dangled, and the large bed of flowers and vegetables grew wildly, competing for space and light.

A hammock was strung outside on the porch of a second, smaller home on the property that I imagined, if my own home, would function as some sort of artist's studio. A place where easels would hold half-painted works. Colourful paints would sit together on tables with pencils, charcoal and marked palettes. Fresh flowers would sit atop an old wooden desk. An old typewriter, love notes, and an inviting chair would wait for the writer (who would be using her laptop, but still..). Found treasures scattered--a unique rock, a fallen leaf, a pressed flower. Pictures, doodles, and pieces of writing would hang on the walls. A hot cup of tea, or a cold glass of lemonade would be necessary, as would a book and a clear mind.

...

A path led us through tall grass and bushes. Trees enveloped us and large soy fields surrounded the property. Signs of fall were all around: the withering flowers, only the slight humming of pesky bugs, leaves already turned bold, bright reds, and a cool evening wind.

As it always does, natures finest intricacies and beauty, pulled me out of a rut in which I'd been stuck for far too long. In making time for this simple outing and allowing myself to revel in it, camera in hand, I gained a little levity.

I will hold this moment, and the feelings that arose, close to me as a constant reminder that it's okay to take breaks, leave my problems and the guilt that comes with not tending to them, and go and sit--in nature--in love.