all the time in the world.

"I saw them standing there pretending to be just friends, when all the time in the world could not pry them apart."

-Brian Andreas

Old McDonald had a Farm.

This past week I was nannying a few of my favorite kids in the whole world. We decided to take a little trip to the petting farm. Here are a few photos of the fun adventure we had.

Welcome Back Leah.

Well it has been quite some time since I've last posted. So for my homecoming I have decided to share someone very dear to my heart. My friend Christina Jane, is a inspiring photographer and one of my most favorite people. She asked me to take some photos of her for her new website. Here are a few favorites.

Write.

I long for the days when I use to just sit at my desk and write, write, and write some more. I use to love filling up journals, and writing on scraps of paper and stuffing them in any drawer or book that was closest to me. What has happen to my simple joy of writing? Where has my aching to express gone? In attempt to get my drive back, I am going to start writing the first thing that comes to me again. So blog, it is time to once again be my empty canvas of expression. It is time to let my words be the color, and my sentences be the strokes of my life. It is time to create, to let go, to be come a mater piece. No matter how chaotic or disorganized. You blog will again have a purpose. And I know in my heart beauty will surface out of the messiness of life.

Bliss

Have you ever had a moment in time, when for one split second everything perfectly ok in the world? You didn't feel pain, or fear, and you weren't burdened by the little insecurities and problems of the world. And for that one second it was as if the world stopped and suddenly everything was beautiful.

I had this moment yesterday as I sat outside on a warm spring day watching the sunset with the sounds of my sweet friends laughing ringing all around me. And it was true bliss.

Indeed we have learned.

As I stared down at the circular scar left on the inside of my foot, I felt a sharp rush of pain. Not from the scar, but from the mistake attached to it. Where did I go wrong with you? And why is there a scar to remind me? It's funny to think how parallel a scar and a mistake are. Both caused by pain, both leaving a mark. However the beauty of scars is the simple fact that they show healing. Even though a wound never completely goes away, it repairs itself to the best of it's ability, and the wound is covered by something new. Much like our mistakes, although the memory of our mistake will stay with us, the pain will eventually become new, and all that is left is a mark showing that we indeed have learned, and that is really all we can ever do.

Current state of mind.