Monday, June 11, 2012

I should have known just how busy I would be.  I should have, but I forgot for the entire month of May into eleven days of June.

I imagined that I would certainly make time to blog the nine months leading up to our wedding.  I would post photographs and string together sentences with expectancy.  And at the end, I would have a lovely documentation of our experiences during the span of months and days and hours from the Saturday we became engaged to the Sunday afternoon we will make our vows.

I have managed to document some photographs of some processes, but so much has passed by without the desired soaking-in of moments and thoughts.  With less than three months left, I want to prioritize this, but so many other priorities are non-negotiable.  So, in times I cannot afford to write- to photograph, I will try to remember.  I will try to cement everything to memory as best I can.  And, following our happy day, I will put them all into a little book somehow with borrowed lines from quickly-scribbled journal entries and whatever snapshots can be found.

For today, some peaceful memories of our return trip home from Big Bear last April.  Us, reflecting the retreat with noticings, stories, recaps.  Me, asking if we could find a place to pull over on curvy mountain roads.  Him, waiting patiently in the car while I traipsed up a path, undetected until you were already upon it, which led-to-ledge, and tried to shield light from instant film as I shot each one.  Then, slipping them into a black case and hoping they would come out beautiful.

Perhaps, they came out a little dark, a little muddy.  But, I love them.  I love car ride laughter, holding hands across the parking brake, putting my feet up on the windshield and leaving the slightest of footprints, listening to music that I can't remember now, and wishing days like this were longer with fog-filled valleys and little paths to follow and hours alone, together.

on the return (april 2012 - big bear, ca)
impossible film, px 600 silver shade uv+ black frame
© kimberly k taylor, all rights reserved


Jess Engel said...

I share your sentiment and indeed marvel at how time goes without my ability to reflect upon it. And I suspect you probably cherish the documentation as much as the experience, it allows the experience to transcend that moment. The documentation becomes a living thing itself, a piece of your love, and looking back upon it helps you to understand yourself, your feelings, and how you've moved forward.

You are such a wonder, a marvel. This time has passed so quickly, so full of beauties and beasts, stresses and hope-giving things. I know that even with your hands tied, unable to do the things you wish, you'll have made it count. (We may not have pictures, words, etc from these months, but the story of this time is a secret you can share over a campfire or a cup of coffee and that itself is a gift). The pictures will have to be conjured up in our heads, the words will have to be stories you tell as memories.

Kimberly said...

Thank you, Lovely. Your spirit is one of the most beautiful things I have encountered on this earth.