under cover of darkness in daisies growing randomly through the tall meadow grass.
I feel unstoppable; I hear the joy of my own laughter.
A stunning evening sky blossoms above me, twinkling.
The moon echoes my laughter.
The wind sings a night song.
I twinkle and laugh and sing with them.
The fireflies are back.
the reflection that looks back does so as though nothing has changed.
As though there is no darkness behind familiar eyes.
As though there is no unfamiliarity in the mundane sameness that take morning into night and back into morning.
The sameness is likely still there, but my perception has skewed it; distorted the memories, played the ultimate trick.
Finding my way was simpler before I lost it.
Mayhaps I will find it again, but if not, if it is gone, how will I ever really know?
The irony of a broken mind.
The photograph below has my copyright, so I know I was there … I just don’t know where there is.
Posted in afraid, alone, being human, being myself, blog, broken, memories, poetry, words, writer
unfurls as it does and time is irrelevant.
It is full of many things.
Joy.
Sorrow.
Disappointment.
Happiness.
Melancholy.
There is no end to the myriad of feelings and emotions that make up the fabric of our lives.
Me, we, all of us want to belong to something, to someone.
Just to belong.
The important thing is to not lose who we are when we try to belong to that which we dont.
A square peg in a round hole.
I would prefer to know I have been true to myself than to find I had sacrificed myself, my thoughts and my feelings for nothing special.
Life unfolds in its own time.
I’m inclined to be patient while it does.
I would rather march alone to my own drummer than to give up the sticks simply to be accepted.
Nature, in all her beauty, would agree, for not one leaf nor wildflower would give up their magnificence for acceptance.
And so, I think, I shall aspire to think as a wildflower; and knowing, that though different I am, in The Creator’s eyes, beautiful.
Posted in blog, creation, faith, from my heart, Life, life experiences, nature, peace, poetry, Time, wildflowers, words, worship
I expected you to be in at least one.
Nearly five years you’ve been gone and never once did you consider slipping in, saying hello, smiling?
Ok, maybe smiling is asking too much.
You weren’t much of a smiler, but damn, you could cook.
I still remember your face, though the last time I saw it was in death.
I really thought you might visit, but being as I am, perhaps it’s just as well you didn’t.
Your birthday is coming up.
I should come sit by your grave; but I won’t.
It wouldn’t matter to you either way.
It never did.
You told me once that nobody really cared about my thoughts, dreams, words and feelings.
I didn’t believe you then.
Now, I wonder.
Posted in being human, being myself, blog, death, dreams, emotion, feelings, words, writer
descends beneath a full moon that lights the fog in the valley, turning it into a magic place, a world of fantastic images, shadows; sweet-smelling and ripe with blooms of blackberry brambles.
A beautiful thing to be part of such wonder.
Such intricate loveliness.
How gloriously beautiful, ethereal, imperial, mysterious and full of magic is the full moon.
As is any phase of the Lunar cycle, excepting the disappointing invisibility of the New Moon.
She, for I think of her as she, makes the dark, midnight hours resemble a muted dawn.
Shadows and silhouettes dancing amidst the cool wind and shifting clouds.
Such wonder in the shattered darkness that enthusiastically precedes a new day.
I talk to the moon, I stand in her light and find a piece of myself and, ironically, a peace in myself.
A moment of belonging to the night, the sky, the universe.
Simply belonging.
Different.
Struggling.
Surviving.
Living.
She, like her creator, loves me though I am flawed.
How, you ask can I speak of magic alongside creation without sounding like a hypocrite?
Because the magic, joy, humility, blatant brilliance and magesty of creation takes my breath away. That isn’t hypocritical, it’s simple fact.
Yes, I love the moon.
This time next month, the fireflies will frolic and dance beneath her easy light.
I can scarcely wait for them.
Judge me if you must, but it won’t stop the fireflies nor the words the moon, if you listen, has to say.
So, yeah.
I do love the moon.
Posted in blessings, blog, blogger, bloggess, creation, earth, human, Life, life experiences, moon, Pentax, Pentaxian, photographer, Photography, words
Tagged blackberry winter, creation, might sky, moon, universe
has always been, since the very first time I read his work, my favorite poet.
He writes of nature and God and love and beauty in a way that I can relate to through photography of the creation he wrote of.
I especially like “Good-bye and Keep Cold” as I do love my mountain orchard … feel free to visit this post regarding just that – https://ginamintonkearns.com/2014/02/05/my-orchard-awaits/ .
And “Stopping by the Woods”, well really.
When my daughter was young, I did not spank her or put her in time-out.
Instead, when she had committed an infraction, she wrote.
Robert Frost’s works.
At the time, it ticked her off to have to write this poet’s verse, but, because she hated to write anything, it had the desired effect in making her work harder in school in order to avoid writing; which she hated worse than any kind of poison.
She now attends college at UVa Wise and is majoring in music.
She wants to be a band director and I couldn’t possibly be more proud of her.
At this year’s commencement excercise, a reference to Robert Frost was made. Not only did she recognize it, but relayed it to her friends.
It was, whether it was meant to be or not, a proud moment for me.
There will be many things she will forget as she forges her path in life, but Robert Frost will not be one of them.
She is my crowning achievement, and I am astutely proud of her.
I have, along the way, lost many wonderful, intriguing friends because I was too much, too crazy, too something and they couldn’t handle it.
I certainly don’t hold it against them because sometimes “my crazy” befuddles me and I wish I could “unfriend” or “unfollow” myself.
I have a greater hope for my girl and pray the “crazy gene” has passed her over.
My brain is a mystery to me and it is too much to ask anyone, even the diligent, mystery solving, “I can figure it out because I’m brilliant that way” type to fathom.
Jesus knows it, sees it as it is, and loves me despite it.
Or mayhaps, because of it.
As I said, I’m good either way.
That, for me, is enough.
Posted in Band, daughter, daydreamer, dreamer, friends, human, Jesus, life experiences, music, nature, Robert Frost, weird stuff, words
has come and gone.
It was a moiling day that recurrently required my attentiveness which, as expected, was absent.
Thoughts came and went and were often re-thought because I didn’t remember thinking them the first time.
I wanted to go to my falls and stand in the rain while they sang to me and absorbed my fears, comforted my spirit.
I couldn’t remember how to get there.
I did not know the path I have taken dozens of times
This journey I am on, as none I have taken before, may actually break me past the point of my brokenness.
I’m not afraid, though, for whether I live in the Lord or die in the Lord, I am in the Lord.
My feeling of insanity doesn’t phase Him.
the thought occurred repeatedly that the falls could be, due to lack of rain, diminished.
I momentarily forgot about the recent storms that plagued the area.
‘The Falls’ to anyone who knows me or follows my blog is Stony Creek Falls, deep in the heart of Jefferson National Forest in Southwest Virginia.
No matter what I may see or experience from this point on, the falls of Stony Creek will always be my favorite place to go.
Where I live and play, find my sanity or cry my tears, speak aloud my fantasies and find perfect solace.
However ridiculous this sounds, they encourage me.
They were, however, full and bountiful; loud, mesmerising and astonishing.
Gloriously singing the song that never has the same words but is, without fail, recognizable.
Nature’s music.
God’s melody.
I tried to keep one eye on my nieces, but I was so intensely focused on the falling, pooling, bubbling, laughing water that I forgot they were there.
If I were a babysitter, which I am NOT, this would reflect poorly on my resumé.
The curvy mountain road driven way too fast to the joyous shouts of my companions only enhanced the natural high of the falls.
They were formidable in their magnificence and while I am pleased to introduce my nieces to nature, outdoors, the sky as seen with the convertible top down and indescribable rock formations, the falls are mine.
They have been since the moment I saw them.
God speaks to me there; through the wind, the water, the noise, the silence, the swaying of the trees, the rocks.
He recognizes me when I am there.
I recognize myself when I am there.
Enough said.
Posted in Photography
Tagged beauty, creation, music, nature, Southwest Virginia, waterfalls
have their place.
For the most part, they are useless and do little more than induce a headache. They can quickly escalate from simple tears to uncontrollable sobbing.
While sobbing uncontrollably can be purging and purifying, it is one of those things that lands you in the back of a police car in the wee hours of the morning for a personal escort to the nuthouse.
I’m not guessing here, I’m telling it straight.
Tears sometimes come unbidden, unexpected and inexplicable.
No reason.
No provocation.
They come as they like because tears have that kind of power.
The power to overwhelm, discombobulate and wreak havok. They lie and pretend and make merry of themselves without any indication to their derivation.
I have plenty of things I could, were I so inclined, to cry over, but I choose not to because crying doesn’t change anything. And yet tonight, I find tears that I cannot define and have no understanding of running down my face.
I cry over many things, that is true, and sometimes, I cry just to be crying. But I know when I’m crying that it is for a specific reason or, as is sometimes the case, just to be crying.
I am not, as I am tonight, stymied by the origin of the tears or their purpose.
So I came up with the only explanation I could think of …
these tears aren’t mine.
I don’t know who they belong to, but I am rejecting ownership.
I cry when I need to cry; when the wind is right, when the clouds are perfect, when lightning finds its way into the lens of my camera, when someone close to me is gone, when my friends are hurting, when I miss someone, when I realize that I am an idiot, when leaves change in Autumn, when I’m mad (mad tears being the ones that get everyone in trouble), when I’m happy … well, this could go on for days, so lets just say, I know when I cry even if I don’t know precisely why I cry.
I’m not the one crying.
Not this time.
These are not my tears, but because someone is crying them, I will endure them for their sake and hope that the morning brings them solace.
I like to imagine that I live in a world where the few people close to me know me unconditionally. I realize that while they know me, they, in every likelihood, will never really understand me.
That is a constant that I have learned to live with over the years.
I can’t keep up with my own madness so how, pray tell, could anyone else.
There is no fault, no blame, no accusations.
Just the smack in the face of reality and reality, make no mistake, can pack a serious punch.
My drummer plays a tune that is out of sync with the real world. That’s how it is and I live with it.
But … since these are not my tears, I simply say wth, wipe them away and move on.
Or try to.
They are persistent, these tears that are not my own.
I have a life to live, photographs to take, places to see, dreams to dream, music to learn, piano to play and I don’t have time to play emotional games with players that apparently, since they can sic their tears on me, outrank me by a considerable margin.
It would be more conducive to rational behavior were the tear-sharer to make themselves known to me.
If I sound nuts, then all is right with the world at this moment, because I am, even on a good day, teetering precariously on that fine line between reality and insanity.
I don’t deny that.
But dammit, I know when I’m crying tears that belong to me.
I am what you see, what you see is what you get, what you get is what you see and there aren’t any games.
So … somebody claim these damn tears and face your own demons because my schedule is already full.
my depiction of an eye … a pencil sketch.
Posted in a photographer's heart, being human, being myself, bipolar, blog, blogger, bloggess, emotions, pencil, Photography, tears, words
Tagged blog, emotions, gina minton kearns, life, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, words
is one of those mysterious things.
The glorious free-fall from the heavens, seeing the earth in all of its beauty.
There is nothing like it and yet I find myself mingling with the saltiness of tears.
Ones that are not my own, but even so, I have become one with her and her sorrow, happiness, indifference.
Mayhaps that was my destiny.
A raindrop to find its way into and merging with a teardrop.
Adopting, no … embracing the saltiness. Sliding down her face, touching her, knowing her vulnerabilities.
I am one with every emotion. Yes, mayhaps this was my destiny when I left the cloud.
Joy?
Sorrow?
Happiness?
A blessing or a curse?
Either way, something magnificent. Something beyond the expected.
I have become more than just a drop of rain.
I am part of an emotion, a feeling, a moment in time. I am more than simply rain.
I am … well, I am reality, beauty and fantasy.
I. Am. Rain. And I am more magnificent than beautiful because, well, because I am.
I suppose I am outspoken, etheral, arrogant.
Yes, I am rain and I arrogantly embrace it.
I am fact and fantasy, reality and imagination.
I am high on the magnificence of it all.
Part of those mysterious things.
The glorious free-fall from the heavens, seeing the earth in all of its beauty.
Yes … I am rain.
Posted in emotions, Photography, rain, tears, words
