I can’t help but notice the light

So here is story of coming to know how my story goes, if only briefly, sitting by the river wrapped in a blanket and perched on a rock while the magpies beak at me.

In which I rise each morning and note the value of the light through my bedroom window: blue in winter amber in spring. Priceless in both cases. Where the magpies greet me in my yard – bossy things – on my way to errands or disappearing into a long run.

In which I decide life is short…

So I…

Buy the expensive journal and fill it with perfectly quotidian thoughts. Paint a series of birds for no purpose other than to make a beautiful thing and store it away. Write the story that lives in my heart and takes up space in my head. Count time by the way the light changes. Embrace both blue light and orange. Trust the art will beg to be made when it can’t not be made.

Long for the thing just out of reach, but embrace the things beside me. Take the leap even though it’s risky…

 

 

*Sometimes I make things that defy my categories… so I write a meditation on my teacher blog and justify it because teachers who write are better teachers of writing. That’s what I tell myself this morning, anyway, about why this belongs here… I might change my mind later…

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