The Freelensed Monthly Edition: November 2014


It is early morning and I have yet to open my eyes.

I know it is dark outside as the light has not yet knocked on the doors of my eyelids. I keep my eyes shut tight so that I can better listen to the world slowly waking up. I listen to the deep sighs of those sharing the tent with me and as I listen to the wind blow through the trees, whistling slowly through the flaps of my ears, I can tell that each one of my companions are still asleep. For that I am grateful. I slowly open my eyes and the first thing I see is nothing. Just darkness. The sun has not peeked over the tops of the glaciered mountains around me. Though I can feel the sharp sting of the cold air around my face, I know that the earth remains slowly circling the sun as I can feel the heat of our star rising through the ground, torrents of sunbeams that will cast everything in its golden glow in just a little while. My eyes slowly adjust to the dark, and as they do, I see the faint blue-gray light that first hints of the day to come. I quietly get out of my sleeping bag and pull on my sweater. While grabbing my boots and other woolens, I ever so softly unzip the tent’s door. I wince as the sound of the zipper seems to resound off the walls of our tent, as deep as a loud “hello!”echoes and bounces off a canyon wall. I turn my head to cast a furtive glance at my tent mates. Not one of them stirs. I sigh with relief as I climb out into the dark campsite, with the wind quickly biting at my cheeks and my mouth steaming out plumes of steam.

My feet tentatively feel the cold sharp needles and frosted dirt, and despite the frigid air, there is a part of me that longs to walk barefoot over to the cold campfire. I am briefly frozen in the indecision, then chose to throw logic to the wind that tickles my cheeks. I walk, feet stinging on the cold ground, my arms clumsily filled with my boots and layers of clothes to the fire pit. I sit on one of the logs as I pull on my boots, my hands shaking from the thrill of acting like a child as well as from the bitter cold. Once dressed, I look up at the sky that will slowly turn a bright blue in just a bit. I can still see Orion’s belt, and though the sky is still a deep navy, the last bits of the Milk Way have been swallowed up by the soon to be seen sun. It is her way of whispering that she is almost here, dancing just behind the mountain range. I don’t want more light just yet, I don’t want the sun to come up and wake the others.

I just want to be here, in the quiet, here sitting, here, with the ache of the cold wood finding its way into my skin.

-Rebecca Coursey-Rugh A Wondered Life 



 Amanda O’Donoughue Photography



Anna Christine Photography



A Wondered Life: Rebecca Coursey-Rugh



Everyday Photo Bliss: Celeste Pav


Sherri Davis Photography November Freelensed Monthly

Sherri Davis Photography



Lindsey Bergstrom



Cate Wnek



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