Volcom dress, Wandering Coyote boots, Vanessa Mooney necklace, all else vintage. 

I'm trying to keep an eye out for that unseen everyday wonder. Trying to stay sharp to the notion of encountering something new, special, unexpected. To the idea that tiny natural miracles are taking place all the time: quietly, amazingly, and totally unperturbed by the lack of audience, in a kinda tree-falling-in-the-woods manner. But it's hard to keep a hold of these thoughts in the suburbs, in a place dominated by humans and all the things we make and consume, and are so deeply familiar with. While impressive in their own right, the things we make, control, consume have a distinct lack of mystery or wonder – because they're ours. 

But I was overwhelmed by this kind of local magic when I visited the farm over summer. All the time, everywhere you look – if you look, quietly, long enough – there's something strange and beautiful to encounter. Baby hawks fought for prey right over my head. I stumbled over a clutch of unearthed water dragon eggs in the paddock bordered by the creek. Streaks of light skated across wide, silent, star-crowded skies. Flowers bloomed and died within hours. What was there one day, was never the same the next. 

And all the time, all these things are working hard at whatever it is they're compelled to do. Quietly, wonderfully.