Turning Point

I was in project overload; it wasn't a happy place to be. The sky was blue, a breeze was blowing, and I was here, at this desk, pounding through assignments, sipping at the air through pursed and worried lips.

Hyperventilation isn't an inspiration, most of the time.

It has never really helped me get the job done.

What was needed, clearly, was a distraction. What was needed was some sort of mini-shopping trip. My mother used to say that the best thing to do for the economy during hard times was to go show some faith in it. I showed my faith at a store called Turning Point today, on a street called State, in a town called Media, during an afternoon that was so blue that I stretched out my arms to embrace it.

I bought myself earrings. I donned them. I came home and snatched, held, lit, shook, stirred until I had a photo of them.

The camera below this blog is owned by a friend of a friend who, last Sunday, wanted a God's view and snatched it. That may have been second person, PJ, but this right here is first. My camera, my earrings, my joy.

Do you want to know what I saw afterward? A boy, perhaps, two, in the back seat of a car, sitting up high in his car-seat throne. He had stuck a butterfly net through the open window to catch his own idea of a breeze.