photo journal

lyons and rabbits

jillian rose


The clouds here are different, somewhere between cotton and spaceships.  The weather can change quickly, but the skies are almost always blue.  The soil around me is dry and cracked & the plants are hibernating in soft shades of grey and gold.  

Plenty of creatives keep to themselves.  Perhaps I should be expanding but caves are still on the horizon.  


She lays my head down on beds of moss and I listen as she reads about butterflies, the moon, and faraway lands.  This is the place her thoughts flow most easily, taken by the wind.  They dance all around her.  Like those little bugs shimmering in the sunshine.  It's freedom she craves most.  She dreams of light (when it's light), but also (dark) when it's dark.


He whistles as he walks.  And when he gets to the end of the path he says "oh my God" at the setting sun, as he scuffles over to the posted sign, (possibly) sees my shoes and scuffles away.  I'm writing in a very light green, but I don't know his eye sight, so I'm not convinced he's not reading this. (It’s awfully quiet.)


It's snowing again.  Big heavy flakes.  The other day the flakes were perfect stars against reclaimed wool.  Bright white, all around.  It's already as if the earth raised itself up to the sky.  A snow globe, hurling through space.  


The first day of Spring.

The sun is strong and I forgot sunscreen again, since the last time I forgot sunscreen.  There's a little tube somewhere but I don't know where.  The pockets of my bag are too full of rainbow colored pens, books, film & bunny snacks. It's dry here, so water too.

Looking out from my familiar ledge, I can still see snow on Long's Peak.  The Front Range is a collage of dusty blues.  The hill closest to me is an earthy (cedar) green, mottled with patches of golden chartreuse and, just recently, small patches of bright green.  

The larger mountains start off a night sky blue. The color softens and lightens to a hazy vintage-photo kind of blue, the peaks soaring up to touch.

The sunshine, though! There's nothing like it.


As I walk, dark grasshoppers with brilliant green bellies and striped legs jump to either side of me.  zap! zap! zap! It  sounds like electricity is running through their wings.  There are so many new blossoms on the trail. 

The ledge overlooks a valley that's just starting to turn green.  Crows fly below, riding the currents.


It's bright but ominous looking above the mountains, a dense grey haze.

Moody mountains.