WHITE LACE (Writing+Photoshoot)

Apr 18

I love white lace dearly, especially when it seems aged in color, or intentionally impure.

Always delicate, always magnificent. Almost as if we were able to see a snowflake for all of its details, blown up into intricate white stitching. The same details that we remark about when harping for individuality.

I have seen a snowflake up close a couple handfuls of times, a fortunate experience, especially in contrast to the dry heat of south Texas winters. And it has always felt marvelous. A timeless, ageless, moment of childlike wonder.

I wanted to write about how we don’t truly examine snowflakes as a literal metaphor, as a point of honor from the weather systems, as a miracle of air and pressure and as a gift from the water cycle; I realize, though, that I have no earthly idea if that’s actually true!

And to assume anything, should be done with the acknowledgement of assuming hope,, so I am believing now that each and every one of us who is romantic for metaphors, or just realistically amazed by the forces of nature, can admire individuality in snowflakes, as much as we can in anything, for more than just a passing sentiment.