Hold On Loosely

Yeah, that song. It was stuck in my head on a walk today.

Not exactly a mega fan of .38 Special, but still a great song and part of the 80s zeitgeist. Looping in my head, not because of what it’s about. When you live in a body that doesn’t always cooperate, you learn to hold on loosely to expectations...

Future plans, timing, even the simple hope of catching good light.

Loosen the grip a little, and sometimes things open up.

I’d wanted that diffuse morning fog, the kind of light that makes the whole park feel soft around the edges. But I was coming off a flare, slow to get moving, and by the time I made it out the door the fog already burned off.

Midday sun. Not ideal. Still, I went.

A few late blooms showed up along the trail, a record of what’s still happening even when the calendar says it shouldn’t.

A little surprise that felt like little treat.

Deeper in the redwoods, a single browning spray caught light in a way that stopped me. One branch in a sea of green. I walked around it, let the angles shift, let the shadows do their work. Something most people would step past without noticing.

I didn’t plan to write. But the images carried enough weight to pull the words out too. Perfectly imperfect day. Exactly the kind that ends up here.

What’s the last ordinary thing that made you pause long enough to frame it?

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