Three years and it’s summertime. June in the Marmara region between the outskirts of Istanbul and industrial İzmit, and serene Lake Sapanca to the east. A harsh, unexpectedly cool wind blows, whipping strands of my hair forward as I write. I’ve inadvertently put my back to the wind and hold down flapping pages to keep the pen steady on my notebook.
Five minutes later and the wind shifts direction. A warm, teasing southern breeze tousles the daisies in a glass jar on the table. The sky above is a mottled blue with cloud cover. The weather changes in an instant, the wind bringing with it the sound of crickets and birdsong while I drink my second cup of tea, only one of many changes in the last three years. Coffee can wait. See below the untousled daisies.
I won’t document all the changes. Some are so small, some so big. Sitting on a back porch is kind of like being steeped in the present while peering at the past, and looking to the future without believing in its sultry promises or scare tactics about what may or may not come to be.
Today I wrote in my notebook: there’s a choice. There’s always a choice. I need to acknowledge and honor the ones I’ve made. And yes – examine the ones that don’t work anymore, but not with a sledgehammer. With an openness like turning a page, eager to see what happens next.
Sevgiler, Rose
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