A Moment of Silence

When Colt was little, all he could do to express his constant frustration was scream.  He screamed for hours and hours…until his little throat went hoarse and he could only make empty gasping noises 😦  In a moment of amazement when taken into the shower for the first time, he stopped screaming to contemplate the water.  I thought, at first, his dad had dropped him or something equally horrible – as there was suddenly no screaming coming from the bathroom…but the yell…

“Grainne!  Get your camera!” was what came next and I followed the instruction.  This is my favourite photo ever taken of my beautiful boy.  The torment in his eyes makes my heart ache, but the love outshines it easily.  xx


Safety in the Fog

I never feel as safe as when the fog rolls in around the farm.  From this view, you can usually see for acres back to the mature tree line.  Here, the dense fog shrouds everything in mystery.   Where I live, low pockets in the road seem to collect the fog and when you drive through them, it gets deposited on your windows.  It happens so fast, it always takes me a second to figure out why I suddenly can’t see. 

The View From Here

I’ll start this photo blog with the reason I started taking pictures: The view.

I had a friend once, called Ben. He was one of the happiest people I had ever met, always smiling, always looking forward to something. One day I asked him where he found his zest for life, his seemingly never-ending enthusiasm. He answered:

“Grainne, just look up sometimes. You’ll be so surprised at what you’ve been missing, if you just look up every now and then.”

I smiled and nodded, and went on my way, thinking him a bit odd. That was, until I was on my way home. I rode the city bus back to my apartment that day and instead of gazing at the sidewalks and people, I expanded my view and…well, looked up. I suddenly noticed the beautiful sculpting of the century old buildings I passed twice daily, usually staring at their dreary entranceway and peeling trim. I saw stained-glass windows and wrought iron statues next to letters, six inches high, announcing someone and his sons, who owned or built the building a hundred years earlier. I was amazed the world existed above six feet..that’s how narrow my view was. Ben helped me see that there was more to look at, more to witness and more to enjoy in the world.

Nearly a decade later I think of Ben often, as I explore the world anew with my beautiful, autistic, seven-year old boy. I hope to capture here, some of the things we learn along the way.