Uncertain abundance. The phrase kept repeating itself in the cobwebs between sleep and wake last night. It captures our summer so aptly: ripe and potent, tenuous and vague. Sands shifting beneath our feet. Waves of love lapping at our toes.
Uncertain abundance. This last month of pregnancy is ringed with the unknown. The baby could come today, tomorrow, in three weeks. His eyes and ears and fingers and toes will uncover us in ways we can’t yet understand.
Uncertain abundance. A belly rising above the water. A baby in a garden of glacial rocks. A mound of life growing near trees, mountains, and green streams.
Photos taken by Rob Roberts at Rattlesnake Creek in Missoula.