Removing My Website

  The Gift of Breath   (please indulge a longer post about the moment behind this image and my desire for you) It was December when "the machine" arrived. Boots crunched through the snow, leaving a trail of steps that marked the miracle that came to our door. My father relaxed in the hospital bed set up in his living room. The machine hummed. Clear tubes made a path across the floor, up in his bed, around his head, and rested gently under his nose. The tiny ports that tickled his abundant Norwegian nose hairs were like praise hands raised in gratitude. He was sleeping. He was breathing. This image was on my computer as I combed through hundreds of shots to make a calendar. In . . . out . . . in . . . out . . . the colors flowed in the image much like the breathing I cherished across the room. I thought much of the marvelous gift of breath. I wrote about it. I cried over it. I prayed for healing to come from it. Dad's body released its tension. His lungs seemed eased. A re...