Visual poetry

I have never been someone who spends time looking at and appreciating plants although when I was hiking through Cappadocia, I became aware of the fragile plants and flowers that somehow manage to thrive in the unwelcoming terrain. 

I especially liked these little flowers that bravely stood alone in this harsh environment.

Since I have been home I have been having a lot of conversations with my friends about the difficulty of living in the abrassive environment of NYC and the world in general.  The people I love all seem to be very sensitive, brilliant and gentle individuals who have a different kind of rhythm and a way of perceiving reality than the majority of the world.  I am no different and it seems that we are all trying to fit in somehow or at least survive in an environment that somehow doesn’t support our rhythm.

As I have gotten older I am giving up the judgmental mind that I grew up with that always told me that I needed to change in order to live a "life".  For all these years my mind has been babbling on, telling me that I need to be: stronger, more organized, more aggressive, more verbal, more physically fit, more social and less sensitive.  Less me in other words, but I don’t think so anymore.  I see my friends and I think they are beautiful.  They are like these flowers- graceful, delicate, with exquisite colors and designs, braving the elements in their own unique way.

The world need us- this quiet army of individuals who can stare out the window of a train for hours, make friends with the stray cats,  have trouble translating our thoughts into words, but naturally transform the world into visual poetry.  The world needs our colors otherwise, it would just be bunch of big dusty rocks out there.