Magic in the Morning Light - And Other Lessons From May

Magic in the Morning Light

Together with a friend, I went out to photograph Banded Demoiselles - those delicate, iridescent beings hovering just above the water. Among them were damselflies, glinting in the morning light, and Banded Demoiselles still dozing quietly, wings folded in sleep. We waited in silence, watching for the right moment - when the breeze calms, the wings pause, and the light softens. Time slows down. And when it finally clicks… it’s magic.

A Dandelion, a Camera, and 1,600 Hearts

One of my highlights this month: a macro photo of a dewy dandelion that received nearly 1,600 likes - and was sold last week! That image sparked a new blog post, where I reflect on what dandelions mean to me. Not just weeds, but symbols of resilience, impermanence, and hope.

👉 Curious? Read the story behind the photo here.

A Breath of Norway

We took a short road trip to the Hamar region - a stunning part of Norway. We stood eye to eye with a moose. Cranes flew overhead. And woodcocks called like frogs in the dusk. The gently rolling hills leaned into Lake Mjøsa, Norway’s largest lake, surrounded by wildflower meadows and peaceful farms. No wonder they call it the Tuscany of the North.

We stayed in a cozy cabin with a wood-fired sauna, nestled among trees. The forest floor was blanketed in wood anemones - soft white stars beneath our feet. A few slow days to rest and reset. Just what we needed.

In Between Places: Rooting Future Dreams

I’m back in Norway now, which feels like home. Yet part of me is still wondering where to plant new roots.

This month I’ve been letting go - scanning old files, clearing out, releasing what no longer fits. At the same time, I’ve been re-visioning: Who is my work really for? Where do I want to share and guide again - here in Norway, or perhaps back in the Netherlands?

A Reunion & What’s Next

This week, something truly special is happening: my former Canadian host family - who I lived with as a teen - is visiting. Reconnecting after all these years feels deeply meaningful. A gentle reminder that the past can bloom again in the present.

Thank you for reading. Wherever you are, I hope this spring offers you soft landings, clear beginnings, and small wonders worth noticing.

And if today calls for stillness - a slow walk, a glance at the light, a quiet breath - let that be enough.