kin

It was a Kinfolk kind of morning. 

When my alarm goes off at eight, a gentle instrumental of "Viva La Vida", I'm usually not to bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (night owl, party of one), but today I woke up all bee-bop-deluxe to sunlight bubbling up over the clouds and tipping through the skylights of my little attic apartment. 

I put on a pot of coffee (with a dash of nutmeg in the grounds, because I pretend I'm fancy), snuggled into my nest of blankets in the corner of the couch and dove into my new discovery - Kinfolk.

How had I not heard of this before?

It's practically in my own backyard!

I decided to lose myself into those matte pages of perfectly lit photography, and the words that painted the walls of my mind with the scenes described so delicately and pristinely I felt as though I were there. 

Can you capture a season on the page? 

I think so.

Venturing far as to harness something so ephemeral as the way a raindrop falls, or how a teacup rings a wooden table, the producers of this sweet little magazine created a space of wonder for me to escape to on this bright, cool day as Portland tries with all its might to slide into an early spring. 

-

To honor the liveliness of the day, I've spent the afternoon sitting at a little French bakery just outside of my beloved city, indulging in a brie & bartlett panini with prosciutto & balsamic, an almond croissant and a cup of strong black coffee. I've watched it go from the lunch rush, to the quiet calm after the storm, to the late lunchers running in before having to dash back to the office.

I've gone from sitting next to the yoga-mommy and her decaf, non-fat to a slightly eccentric man with a one-eyed spaniel wearing a "service dog" vest though, he has let me in on his secret, little scruff-face isn't really a service dog, but how else can he get him into the bakery? 

People make me smile.

Sometimes they piss me off rather genuinely, but today they make me smile.

And I'm glad for it.