09 October 2018

autumn, in full swing.

bird by bird, we are finding our autumn rhythm between these four walls and amongst the city blocks we call home. mornings find us on the floor of the nursery, building blocks and spinning records and sipping coffee in the grey-blue hour before sun's rise.

son's rise: some nights, he needs me like he needs air, and others he sleeps long, deep stretches, rising rooster-like, awaiting me in his spindle crib with a sunbeam of a smile and a laugh (teach me, you angel of delight). to scoop him from his bed on a brand new day, still-warm and smelling of dreams, is purest joy.

we see papa off to the train and we await his return, and in between, days unfold like this: milk, music, play, rest, repeat. i look at photographs of him while i wait for him to wake and i pray his dreams are sweet. there is always more milk. there is always more coffee. we bundle and walk to the swings, to run errands, to sit awhile and listen to ralph on the saxophone in central park. sometimes we walk to the coffeeshop i like in harlem. sometimes we ride the subway down to amble around the village (gracious, how he loves barreling beneath manhattan, shrieking with glee as though riding a rollercoaster). he drums wooden spoons while i cook. he perches amongst the peaks of mama-made mountains of laundry as i sort and fold. he scoot-scoots in circles on the hardwood floor while i scrub the bathtub. he flirts his way around new york city, gentle and friendly and charming, is he.

as francis grows and the light shifts, i see our days finding new patterns and our spirits finding new paths. there are evening walks, play dates with friends, sunday suppers, books, swims, plans for travel, things that are easy, things that are hard, conversations about politics and how nick is doing in senegal and growing our family, good bread, good wine, windows tossed open to invite october in. there is movement, and there is solitude. with a baby in the house, our homesong is a tune somehow sweeter, more purposeful, more content than before.

this season in specific, i am working out some knots in my heart in regards to the value of social media in our life. i ponder how to remain creative and connected, while protecting time and privacy and childhood. i have been keeping this blog for eight years now and my instagram for a few less than that, and it's always been a balance, the dance of sharing some things and holding others close, all while desiring to keep record of life as it unfolds, but lately i find myself craving more privacy. intimacy, even. i yearn for a time when you'd sit beside a dear one, their photos held in your own hands, and listen to their stories, your eyes locked on theirs. some days, i wonder if it is time to move on from this space in the name of a new season and shifting needs; others, i feel so grateful for the uplifting community i have grown here and on instagram, particularly as i have become a mother, and the way sharing my words and photographs nourishes a creative hunger, that i feel i need to refresh my approach, is all. for now, i am honoring the stirring and striving to simplify. seeking less of that and more of this, and always, ever holding space for beauty and grace and meaningful connection.


  1. That word -- "homesong" -- so perfectly encapsulates it all!

  2. Autumn does feel like a great season for new beginnings, and it has often been a time of reflection for me. I wish you luck as you, and the rest of us, navigate our lives online. The beauty of it is that we can choose whether and how much to share, and particularly what forms that sharing will take. I think there is still space for what some may see as old-fashioned sharing - for letters, postcards, printed photographs, and stories that only few people know. And I think it is still right and good to share in many ways, on the one hand, and to share very little on the other (particularly when it comes to children, but that is my personal opinion). I wish you all the best in your own journey!

  3. What beautiful words, as always. Your writing is a balm and a joy. I hope you continue writing on here in some form as your words are so heart-wrenchingly gorgeous, but do also empathise with the desire for privacy and intimacy. Social media is hard. Blogs, now, seem almost retro - in some way, analogue and quaint, with their longer-form passages compared to tiny snippets on instagram and the like. I love love love reading your words <3

  4. I echo Louise's statement above completely. There a few blogs I cherish because of the longer-form, more intimate feel that they still give us in these days of quick social media blasts (and sponsorship!)
    I only recently discovered your blog but it has fast become a favorite, particularly for your ability to capture and appreciate the little things in life (which are, of course, ultimately the big things.) I hope you'll keep writing and sharing what you feel comfortable with - you have a gift with words and a gentle love that I believe the world needs more of these days.