I’ve been once again drawing trees obsessively.
Before girl’s night with pizza and a movie, I cut out of here for a nature walk to the park. There were a few families there, separate from one another and weary of each other. There was an uneasiness I refused to be part of. I was there to touch the trees, to look at the bark, search for early moss and breathe.
I came home with walnut hulls that now hold early spring moss.
It was a long day and an even longer night with a still stagnant day to follow. Yesterday’s activities with the girl’s didn’t go as well as I’d hoped because two of us weren’t really in the best frame of mind to gather with others and be ‘normal’. It ended badly, as badly as a joke. Two depressed girls and an artist walk into a bar…. ……bad.
The pizza was good.
This evening I opened the windows to trade out stale air for new.
Jane is lazy, but not my mind.
I’m sobered by life yet the spirit in me jumps for joy. Spring is permission to start again, to blow away the dust and trade house slippers for cute sandals, or let my toes touch the grass and feel the earth. This season is permission to be ….. alive.
Things that hang or drip long tell me that there is more road ahead, there’s more to come.
Streams and flowing things remind me to step lightly, to breathe.
Yesterday on my nature walk I touched the trees,
I had to.
Moss grew emerald green across bark, who knows how old.
Red buttons popped up here and there
Tiny purple flowers showed their faces and
branches reached so far out I was compelled to reach back;
even complex root systems made room for me.
Yesterday on my nature walk I laughed with the trees.
I was truly alive. Yes, I was alive.