I didn’t realize until after I’d finished taking my pictures that I was crouched in front of a large window and being watched by a woman working inside the church. As soon as she saw that I’d noticed her, she gave me a huge wave with her whole arm, and I waved back before walking on. So between the walk, the sunny little flowers, and the neighborly encounter, my hard little heart started to soften that day.

But that was a week ago, and I’ve barely been outside since. Even though I know exactly why and to what degree a walk will do me good, I can’t seem to make it a priority. I blame it on the way I write: I spend the majority of any writing day sitting at the computer, waiting for the words to arrive. If I let my attention find other topics (which happens more often now that I’m in the thick, hazy midst of planning a wedding) or leave my chair for any reason, I may miss my date with the words.

It’s also inconvenient that if I want to go outside, I have to put on real pants.

I’m not giving up on this idea, though. I’ve never considered myself an indoor girl; I’m naturally happier outside. That should be motivation enough to get past the hurdles laid out by my work and the uninviting view from my windows. But I think I need to finish giving myself permission to walk away from the work and the view more often. In the meantime, we may have to settle for a Photograph Every Ten Days or So.

Last Thursday, I stopped thinking about flowers and bridesmaid dresses long enough to dye Easter eggs with my future sister-in-law and her two oldest kids, and we had a very good (albeit messy) time. Holidays are one of the reasons I want to eventually have kids of my own, but for now it’s completely sufficient to borrow someone else’s for a few hours.

I took this picture a few weeks ago, when the city finally started to reemerge from its thick layers of ice and snow. Eric and I walked around the perimeter of a nearby college campus that sits by the Mississippi River, and I discovered that we live in the worst part of a very nice area. I knew that already, kind of; our street is home to hundreds of college students and businesses whereas the street a block north is defined by the biggest, most architecturally jaw-dropping houses in the city. But I’m not talking about socioeconomic gradients. I’m talking about nature.

For months, I’ve been whining about living in the city because there’s no apparent end to the concrete and brick and people. Tree branches are cut lest they tangle with power lines or pedestrians, and the wildlife has been whittled down to squirrels, sparrows, and rabbits that somehow develop dreadlocks. But on that walk a few weeks ago, a hawk flew just a few feet over my head, and we found large tufts of rabbit fur in the melting snow. We also found a potato on a bus stop bench, and there were still people everywhere, so my desire to live a little farther away from it all remains unchanged. But I’m here now, and if I’m not going to lose my mind over it, I need to get out and explore these relatively quiet, relatively wild places on a regular basis.

To help keep me accountable to this promise I’ve made myself, I’m going to add another regular feature to this blog: a weekly photograph. I’m hoping that by committing myself to photography, I’ll also be committing myself to a search for experiences worth photographing and writing about, and in turn to a purer enjoyment of my life here.