The Shifting Hours: A Scott Foley and Laura Horton Collaboration.

If you have an iPad, you should check out Katachi, an iPad magazine, and download the latest issue. Scott Foley and I have been working on a 12-part video series, The Shifting Hours, the first episode of which premiered this week (though I think the first three are actually available if you scroll through the feature).

Below is the promo that Scott did up (pretty bad-ass) -- get excited:

But We Emerge: A Scott Foley/Laura Horton Collaboration. Again.

Video by Scott Foley. Words by me!

Visions of ourselves find vigor in the calm of fresh air and fall colors. Enlivened senses stir us from our hiding spots -- inadequate havens in which we shelter ourselves from the malaise of ceaseless motion. Our everyday has left us haggard and barely breathing beneath an ever-growing layer of self-doubt. But we emerge.

When the world outside has become still, and our eyelids are not burdened by the weight of a slumber out-of-reach, we embrace our vitality once more. We find our moment. One moment to quietly reflect. One moment to allow our souls to float along the streams of the westerly winds and hover breathless in rays of afternoon sun.

I fantasize about this kind of paradise – the kind that breathes, the kind that cleanses, the kind that numbs our overheated nerves. I dream it takes our heartbeat back to an un-caffeinated pace and delivers the peace for which we so humbly pray.

Heart Rhythms and Sawdust Memories

In a room filled with sawdust,
each fragrant inhale is a pleasant reminder
of something being created.
If the light shines
in the right spot,
it can be hard
not to get dizzy
from the way the dust rides the air,
the way each particle
adds texture to the moment:
everything's blurry,
slightly out of focus.
The colors blend a little,
painted by
the settling sawdust,
and the balance of hues
creates an imbalance in heart rhythm –
an intoxicating moment of peace.

I could fall asleep.
The safeness I feel,
here in this room,
smelling the textured air
now painted with memory as well as debris,
it's never been quite so easy to slip
into my dreams.
The walls were never so welcoming,
the details never so unimportant.
(My yesterday had a flickering light,
reflecting off of and back into the room.
Maybe that spot is covered now
with the film of
those pieces of things we broke in frantic creation,
maybe all the new details
 have diverted attention,
but it doesn't bother me now.)