Earlier this week, I attended a morning get-together with several women. There was coffee served, but, since I don’t drink coffee, I feel funny saying, “I had coffee” or, “I went to a coffee”. Enough with the digression. Time for the story….
This little get-together was relaxing and low key. There were no raised voices, no preening or positioning. Just a handful of women visiting about their children and the school year ahead. The conversation generally involved the whole group, and we all got to hear the longer versions of each other’s concerns, plans and dreams. I liked that part very much. We gravitated toward the family room after the intial round of beverages were poured. I chose to sit in a chair that proved to be fantastically comfortable, and, after the rain started to fall, I kept to myself the desire to tell our hostess that I would be staying for naptime.
I found myself, as we were all talking, mesmerized by the texture of the upholstery on my chair. It was the same upholstery on every chair and sofa in the room, and I hope my friend doesn’t blame her beloved dogs for the possible “wear and tear” on the corner I covertly fondled. The cotton fabric had a weave to it that didn’t follow the pattern of the bold stripes, and it held me in its sway.
Our hostess has a divine sense of style, and what set the room off for me – beyond the tooth of the upholstery – were the magnificent conch shell resting triumphantly on the low table in front of us all and the small basket of collected shells at my elbow.
Just last month on vacation, I took my camera to the beach every day. Initially, I was on a mission to capture sunsets and to not let details get away from me, as I’m prone to do. As I edited and curated my photos on the computer, what stuck out over the many days were the textures we found on the beach and in the water. Every day, the beach ignites in me the desire to stay even longer than the day before. I never want to miss a thing, and I never want to leave.
I spent almost an hour one evening trying to capture the amazing foam near the shore. In the fading light, it was an effort in futility. However, the texture of the sand under the water ended up being as exciting to me as the foam.
Texture can awaken me visually. However, if touching is the truest form of remembrance, I’ve got memories to last a lifetime.
p.s. All of these pictures were taken on Anna Maria Island this summer. I wrote a blog a while back about sunsets and their strange allure. See it here.
SHARE THIS: 
