Quality Family Time

This Christmas my brother and I traveled down to AZ to be with the family. Seeing that my brother and I are 21 and 25 it seems that my Mom decided to pull the "Everyone gets to choose one thing they get to do while were here...." Yea, my dad chose a basketball game, my brother chose a basketball game and my mom chose a football game...I chose going "hiking" in Sedona. This was obviously the completely absurd choice since the previous choices were so uniquely different from one another. My brother begged to stay home and work on his new, 'Funk Flexin Fresh' CD he's coming out with...(he actually is a pretty good DJ but the names are ridiculous!)

On the trip to Sedona we practically reenacted the Family Grizwald Christmas and played car games.

(21 questions)

Dad:male?

Keith: Yea

Dad: Music

Keith: Yea

Nikki: Rap?

Keith: Yea

Dad: Black?

Keith: Yea

Mom: EMINEM!

......

We soon arrived... the rocks carved out the the earth were incredible. The clouds hung low swooping in and out of the spaces between the rocks- a storm was traveling in. We had a couple hours for a little exploring which mostly included my brother sleeping in the car while my parents yelled..."Don't Slip" every other rock and, "Stand back from the edge." Roaming without a purpose-lovely. It was great to explore freely with the camera in such a beautiful place. When you look back at photos you are often reminded..."Oh yes thats when I was laying over that cliff, risking my life to get that angle." There are so many incredible stories behind each photo that most viewers will never know... sadly. One thing that I appreciate about photography is there will never be another picture like the one you just clicked. Is it to take two identical pictures in a row. To me, these are a couple things that make it special.

As the storm crept closer my bro said he wanted to stop somewhere too before we left...Starbucks.

Then it started to pour.

And 21 questions began again.

Walt Whitman

Miracles
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sigh over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one i love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey--bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new noon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim-the rocks-to motion of the waves-
The ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
-Walt