I've missed a few weeks of blogging and now playing catch-up.  April reminded me of a close photographer friend of mine who passed last year.  I remember his generosity and kindness and no matter how busy he was at the Club where he was the Executive Chef, he just made time to always "check-in" to see how I was doing.  He was a nature photographer and always encouraged me to step out of my comfort zone.  He would be happy to know that this paper doll project is definitely out of my comfort zone.  Featured below is a white dotted dress made of tulle and trimmed with satin ruffles:

A poem for Steven:

Home Safe

I sat in a green striped chair looking up Pat Mann—she wanted me to friend her on Facebook.  And earlier at Trader Joes I bought white and peach/yellow tulips to photograph.  Steven emailed me yesterday to ask about the conditions at the Garden.  Happy by the report I received from Anne, he would be heading up on Monday.  I would’ve surprised him had the call not come in.

Now, still sitting in this green striped chair, the breeze comes into this room and reaches me.  The curtains flutter quickly and wave.  I stare into nothingness.  I don’t want to answer another call.  The music is silent.  The Velvet Hour was the last CD I burned for him.  The clock is too loud.

The bed is a soft place, I walk over and sit with pen and paper.  This pen is too black, this paper too white.  Ink spreads beyond the words I write and smears from wet drops.  What moments do I remember?  The long walk at the Botanic about our private lives was one.  The prairie was in a yellow glow of wildflowers that day, swaying to a rhythm of waves.  The meet-up at the Starbucks on LaGrange Road was another.  Outside on a bench Steven just back from meeting Sydney and dropping off a book—the two of us talking photography while strangers passed and said hello.  

Looking out my window, the sky is filled with cumulus clouds in varying shades of grey.  It’s the kind of day that might work well for macro but not so well for the intimate landscape.  It makes me think of Steven’s images.  That intense black and white image of tree roots with a couple of fall amber leaves was something only Steven could have seen.  I remember our email whether to keep that corner leaf in or not and deciding to leave it in was best.  It was best.

I’ve spoken to Diana and we are saddened together.  She understands loss—a freshness that pricks her heart at moments especially like this.  Monday without Steven we’ll celebrate the chef, the artist, the friend of many.  I will drive home and before I get into my car I will hear his words to me:  take care and home safe.  And to you too Steven, now home safe.   I miss you my friend.