A newborn fern reaches, twists to bask in the single beam of sun that penetrates the rainforest canopy, a spotlight.

Dew on leaf and nectar supped by butterfly. Sweat on the glass brim of a summer martini. With the macro lens on my 1970s-era Pentax I was dwarfed by worlds within worlds, transported hands-first into shimmering giantness, enveloped. Wrapped in more life and light and vividness than I’d ever known existed—that which could only be discerned by getting really. close. up.

Happily engulfed by the otherworld inside a macro lens, the big outside mattered less.

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I don’t have so much diversity to offer these days. Not what's botanical and artistic and profound aside from what lives and dances and giggles inside these four walls, this small house on the edge of a seasalty coast, these two boys, this mama’s life.

So week after week it’s the first kid, then the second. Then the first, then the second. And I’m sorry for that and feel entirely humbled by all of you and the gorgeousness in the pool but 1) there is an ice-storm outside, oppressive and bone-chilling and not so welcoming for baby-laden photo excursions; and 2) in the effort of capturing my boys I find the same vividness, the same meditation as before.

These days, I’m macro-less. But camera pointed at these faces, the wonder returns.

Wishing I could crawl in between those eyelashes, turn around and see from his vantage point how the world looks, as he studies it.

You don’t mind, do you?

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This week, I’d love to see your favourite macro shots. Tide me over until light and weather and childcare and disposable income and a good deal on a lens conspire to set me loose among the dewy ferns again.

Gimme a dose, willya?