Amsterdam. 2004. Fourth of July weekend.
Side note: Isn't is strange to spend the 4th in
a foreign country? Or is it strange to celebrate
when nobody else is? Either way...
I have a memory of a favorite morning.
We were staying in an angular, bizarre hotel
room with purple walls (think Prince) and I
happened to wake up early. Very early. I didn't
want to go back to sleep, so I threw on a
summer dress, my favorite green heathered
cardigan that I stole from my sister (thanks K!),
grabbed the new VOGUE and headed to the park.
It was around 5am and the entire neighborhood
was consumed by a thick mist, not a fog, a mist.
I flipflopped my way down a path, nothing but
time on my hands. I came to a tree with a trunk
like a ladder. At the top there were multiple
chair-like branches, so I decided to climb up and
have a read. It was incredible. It was me, a few
joggers, and that refreshing space of nature in
the midst of the city. It was also one of those
moments where you think, if life's lead me here,
I must be doing something right.
The reason I mention this story is because
when I look at these clothes by Willow,
it reminds me that beautiful clothes should
be worn for mornings spent in trees with
slightly dirty feet and a magazine. There
are prescribed contexts for attire, but who
wrote those rules? Fancy dress in a tree:
no better place for it. Nothing should be so
precious in life that we can't enjoy it while
we've got it.
Willow is one more reason
I am dying to get to Australia.
I want to go and think I'm
never coming back.
