As their hands went over their hearts, the sun came down.

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Our first night in Lima, I went for a walk. I was exhausted and under-caffeinated and I was dying to explore Barannca, where our Bed and Breakfast was located.

I grabbed a coffee and walked west toward the ocean where the sun was starting to set and the local people were taking their seats on blankets, spooning against trees, riding their bicycles around the sharp curves that hugged the bluffs. In the distance, a spattering of islands. An illuminated cross...
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I was alone, and as it so often happens in moments of solo-missionness, everything happened. There must be a word for this -- for moments that happen while wandering or waiting, going left instead of right, ending up somewhere, someplace...

Like stumbling upon a treasure and having nobody to share it with, but, like... in a good way, because you realize as it's happening that you probably wouldn't have noticed the magic had you had shared it with someone else. Because... that's how these things work. I used to travel alone and that's what it was like -- I would turn to a friend because "DID YOU SEE THAT!? ARE YOU SEEING THIS!?" and realize that I was the friend.

I was the only person I knew on the subway.

Or on the bridge.

Or on the Spanish Steps when all of the people suddenly held hands and sang We Are the World in five different languages.

And so. The stories live on in my journals and blog posts... in the suitcases I refuse to unpack in my heart.

The last time I left North America was 2003. I spent the first five years of my adult life traveling, mainly alone. I had forgotten what that felt like until those brief moments on my walk to get coffee across the street.

There was music playing as I set off to explore. I followed the sound to a party being held down the road...

...When I stood on my toes I could make out the band, their instruments slung across their chests as they sang from the balcony overlooking a makeshift dance floor.

I kept walking...

...toward the trees and a coastline that resembled La Jolla. The sky was beginning to change and the music, though faint, still bumped with a bass it would have been impossible not to walk to.

Bam and step. Boom and step. Bam and step. Boom and step. 

Bikers rode and mamas pushed strollers. Couples held each other from behind, pinned each other against trees to kiss... A woman stood with her face against the sun. Voices hummed quietly. Everything glowed.
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We're all the same, seems to be the takeaway of travel. Even when we're not. Even when lives look so completely different to the ones we have in our worlds, we're all the same. We all marvel at a day's end. We all glow under the fading light. We dance... 

The light was heaven and I made my way down the winding path, past the bougainvillea which blooms in Lima in the most unlikely places, draped around walls and fences, pink and gold just like the sky.

It was on this path that an older couple, arm in arm, caught my eye. They were deep in conversation as they slowly walked, not to the beat of the music but to their own rhythm, left together right together, left together right.

I followed them, of course. When you're alone you get to do that and it doesn't seem weird. You just make it seem you're on a mission... to... the... fence? I mean... the tree? I mean... the... here. I'm going to stand here and pretend I'm invisible...

And I did.  I followed them down through the garden, where tulips grew in patches, and I watched the light change as the sun fell through their hands...

Which were lifted. High above their heads as the sun came down.

And then, the moment the sun disappeared, they pulled their hands from the sky and placed them over their chests. Inhaling the moment, digesting the day, pulling the last bit of light into their hearts.

I tried to remain invisible, although I did manage to get a few pictures. I watched in disbelief. Turned to my... self and said, "THIS."

And my self turned back and said, "DUDE."
It's been three weeks since that evening, and for every sunset seen since, I've thought of them. I've thought of their hands and their hearts and what it feels like to watch a day end. To stand back as the light passes over the horizon, becoming someone else's dawn.
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I think of all those years traveling and how many times, since, I've wanted to crawl back in time and pull at the heels of old adventures. How frustrating it is to get old and to commit to staying put. To standing in one place as the tides taunt us with their breath, in and out and in and out and back and forth and everywhere. But also, how rewarding.

Because for those few minutes, standing behind the couple, I watched the sky become a dozen different versions of itself. I would not have noticed how quickly and how different everything looked had I turned around, crossed the street, climbed down the mountain.

Standing still can be just as adventurous, for the fading light cannot help but change our tones.
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It is perhaps the most poetic time we have in our day, the end of light, the beginning of darkness, the collision of color that occurs between scenes. The magic hour exists in every day -- and it isn't day or night that makes it so but the in between. And everyone gets that to some extent because every day, our reminder is painted across the sky.
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Moments after the sun came down, as the sky slipped out of its blue jeans and into its violet evening gown, the old couple, removing their hands from their hearts, joined arms and turned around.
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"Don't ever forget this," I whispered.

"I won't," I whispered back. 
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Gone Style: Shop Krochet Kids

IMG_9944  Ali hat  by: KK intl,

As a follow up to last week's post featuring the incredible organization, Krochet Kids, I wanted to take today and feature some of my favorite KK intl items for men, women and children. Because shopping is rad. And shopping for things that give back to women and their families is even better.

mimipurse the mimi (on sale!)
The Mona 

photo 1-1 Knit Lace Long Sleeve (Black, M) +
 Arizona headwrap (ideal for days when bangs are the worst.)
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jax tee (this shirt was designed for dudes but I like it on ladies.)
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Paired with my Jordan Catalano costume flannel 
IMG_1851 Leandra knit shorts (mine are M/L and they make me feel excitement!)
... paired with this backpack = perfection:
P.S. Your baby called and would like you to buy him/her this hat: 
the hoot And this hoodie:
zip hoodie
And don't forget this hot little number for your summer adventures ... paired with cut-offs, a t-shirt and a flannel and you're good to go for months. Capsule wardrobe activate. 

See more from Krochet Kids, here, including new releases for the whole fam. Happy shopping, friends!
hat = the jackson. girls = the awesome



photo 1 The moon is almost full. The earth is still spinning. This song is beautiful and so are you.

229. Won't be Around no More by: Avi Buffalo
photo 2Goodnight.


The Month in Moments: February

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It's Monday morning and I've just downloaded the last month of photos from my phone onto my computer. I do this once a month and marvel at time and moments and how, without record of them, they might have floated up and away. I have a terrible memory. I am a hundred years old when I try to remember what happened yesterday, last week, a year ago... That may have something to do with the fact that I've recorded even the most mundane of moments so I haven't had to be reliant on memory... but sorting through the images of the last several weeks is a happy place for me. Spending the first of the month, regrouping, remembering and moving on...
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Spring is here even though it's still winter. I open the windows even though it's raining... the jasmine is too aromatic to lock outside, especially when it only lasts a couple of weeks. Soon enough the blooms will fall and I'll close the windows. For now... nah. 
Bo loves the smell of flowers. She smells every single flower, even the ones that do not smell. She closes her eyes and inhales every blossom. 
"Smell this," she says to me, holding up a leaf. "Smell the green. Smell the yellow and the pink." 
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To February's end being March's beginning. To mornings becoming afternoons becoming evenings. To the moments we hold onto and those we let go...
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...To joyfully drawing what we can between storms and welcoming a new canvas come morning.
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