hope like a bee

Something about this picture of stacked plums gives me a warm feeling, like a bee of hope buzzing inside my sternum. I am susceptible to joy creeping directly into me through the eyes, without having to pass through the censor of mind, when I look at certain pictures. I don't understand how that works, but I'm constantly searching for hope out of ordinary scraps of life from behind my lens. 

When I write the stories of my life, the craziness that was my childhood, I seem to do the same thing. I think and ponder, shifting my kaleidoscope of memory to find something good: a happy ending or worthwhile tribute because I am not a person who can easily leave sad endings without digging for some hidden treasure underneath.

I know the shot is overexposed, but I like it that way. I'd like to have a life overexposed with sunshine and appreciation. It's easy to be too serious because I think too much, with a soupcon of anxiety thrown in just to keep things interesting, so I have to work on my gratitude list and meditate every day. That is my goal, anyhow. Sometimes I forget and have to begin again. And again. And again. And just keep practicing.