The Story

The Invitation A crash from the front room. The cat had knocked over my vase. The flowers had long since dried, the water evaporated. I hadn’t photographed them before they faded. I shooed the cat away from the brittle stems she was gnawing on and began gathering the mess, distracted by the familiar ache of having missed my moment. Then something caught my eye. The shape of the flower felt as if it were quietly asking me to look again. As I stood there, holding the stem, a sensation arose. It seemed to come from both outside and within me. A question. An invitation. Can I trust you? I didn’t understand it, but I felt its presence. There was more here than I could name. It arrived long after I thought I had stopped believing. Not can I trust others— but can I trust myself. Not just to be there for others, but to be present with my own knowing. Something I had often offered outward was now turning gently inward. Can I trust myself with myself? I carried the flower to my camera. Reluctant, new to this pull to create, I began to work with light and focus to reveal what was asking to be seen. That moment marked the beginning of a delicate exchange—trust, guidance, and wonder. An invitation to step into a more expansive, adventurous relationship with what I once knew, but had forgotten how to listen to.