{"id":3121,"date":"2021-09-06T07:41:05","date_gmt":"2021-09-06T11:41:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/?p=3121"},"modified":"2021-09-06T04:39:30","modified_gmt":"2021-09-06T08:39:30","slug":"altered-horizons-16","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/altered-horizons-16\/","title":{"rendered":"Altered Horizons 16"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/AH16Post090621.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter wp-image-3122 size-large\" title=\"Altered Horizons 16 Robin Botie of Ithaca, New York, Photoshops fabricated landscapes in her dealing with depression and coping with loss.\" src=\"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/AH16Post090621-683x1024.jpg\" alt=\"Altered Horizons 16 Robin Botie of Ithaca, New York, Photoshops fabricated landscapes in her dealing with depression and coping with loss.\" width=\"683\" height=\"1024\" data-popupalt-original-title=\"null\" srcset=\"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/AH16Post090621-683x1024.jpg 683w, https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/AH16Post090621-200x300.jpg 200w, https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/AH16Post090621-768x1152.jpg 768w, https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/AH16Post090621-600x900.jpg 600w, https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/AH16Post090621-624x936.jpg 624w, https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/AH16Post090621.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 683px) 100vw, 683px\" \/><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">We used to dance. When she was very young I\u2019d swing my daughter around under the moon on a sandy beach. On a crowded dance floor, or in the living room, I sang as we twirled together. Now, my soothing nightly grief ritual: humming the old tunes to the ghost of my daughter. One of the songs always brings up images of blithe spirits waltzing around the moon.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">Here my moon is really the rock that holds a bug screen down over my garden. Wilted lettuce plants are the dancers. A wave of foamy residue left on the shore by the receding tide becomes my horizon line. The whole scene is framed with the drainage strip that lies beneath my front door, spliced and inverted in Photoshop.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">Walt Whitman, in his \u201cSongs of Myself\u201d from Leaves of Grass, wrote, \u201cIf you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles.\u201d There, where my feet tread, is where I mainly focus the camera.<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>We used to dance. When she was very young I&rsquo;d swing my daughter around under the moon on a sandy beach. On a crowded dance floor, or in the living room, I sang as we twirled together. Now, my soothing nightly grief ritual: humming the old tunes to the ghost of my daughter. One of [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2254],"tags":[2299,2259,705,2256,2271,976,2297,2285,2270,2298,790],"class_list":["post-3121","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-a-h","tag-altered-horizons-16","tag-coping-with-change","tag-dealing-with-depression","tag-due-to-loss","tag-fabricated-landscapes","tag-grief-and-loss","tag-photoshop-for-healing","tag-phototherapy","tag-upended-life","tag-upside-down-world-grief-ritual","tag-walt-whitmans-song-of-myself"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t<!-- All in One SEO 4.9.10 - aioseo.com -->\n\t<meta name=\"description\" content=\"We used to dance. 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