Beautiful illusions.

Transformation is constant. It is a current pushing forward regardless of friction. Nothing is still. Nothing is always. Perception is pertinent when dealing with any sort of change. Life grows, seasons change, time moves forward and the earth spins constantly.

Some transformations are obvious. Take for example the butterfly. An egg hatches into a beautiful larva inching along slow and patient. Only to morph into an elegant butterfly. Sometimes I wonder if they are aware of what they would become. If while diligently tranced constructing their chrysalis they had excitement about what was to come. Perhaps they just trust that the unknown doesn’t have to be negative or scary. That change is just that, change.

As we say goodbye to summer and hello to winter, perspective comes into play. Sure cold, slushy commutes to work and frosted over windows can mean a lot of hassle for a lot of people. Let’s think about what is really going on. Nature slows down to rejuvenate, restore and rebuild her life forces for the next year’s cycle. Again, perception plays a part here. I hear many people (guilty of this myself) complaining about “missing the sun”. Many people don’t know that we are actually closest to the sun in January. So when we are furthest away from our source of heat, we are actually warmer. Funny to think about really.

With everyone scurrying to find thing to occupy themselves during these cold months I’m thankful for my childish nature. Snowball fights and igloo forts are some of the highlights of the season for me. Sledding is a favorite too. Snow is a beautiful disaster when too much falls, but excitement still rushes through me when I through open my curtains to see a few feet fell overnight. Cooking everything, and “bad weather” excuses to stay in with family for bored games and movies. The long nights and short days do take a toll on my spirit eventually and as soon as January hits, I am over it. I long for greens and mud. I can’t wait for the smell of bonfires to come from my backyard, not out of my chimney. 

I am sometimes a hypocrite when it comes to transformation, and change. As much as I know that everything is in motion, sometimes I wish I could stop the clock. Whether to have one more moment with a loved one who has passed, or to slow the aging of my children. I sometimes need to remember what my advice to everyone else is. The clichés like, everything happens for a reason, or when one door closes another will open. Regardless if you tend to see the glass of water as half full or half empty it is just that, a glass with water in it. If you stand and ponder for too long, eventually it will evaporate.

I try to appreciate change as much as I can. I am an optimist at heart. It is never easy to face disappointment or loss but looking at things in retrospect can help. As sad as I am to see my children growing up so fast it will be nice to eventually have time to do the endless lists of nonsense I find interesting. Like quilting or refinishing an old dresser to look like a bench with drawers that I found on Pinterest. Watching my children accomplishing their dreams will be as amazing, as watching as they took their first few steps. Sure it’s scary not knowing what is around the corner, but it is the anticipation that’s important. Sometimes we all need to take a step back and just breathe. We are never in control of everything and that, that is ok.

 

 

 

Dance in the rain.

The snow has been pounding down all day and it looks like a calendar shot. The wind creates little tornadoes of glitter across my yard. Silence blankets nature's beautiful noises, until a plow eventually scrapes through the quiet, a path, to ensure that life can go on. White deserts and mirages of summer fill my thoughts, creatively this is perfect.

Writing has kept me busy for most of the chill. When writers block rears its ugly head I fill my inspiration with good books of varying genres. Once inspired I pour words out of my pen onto paper releasing mosaics of alphabetical master pieces. The long nights spent in front of the fireplace with tea and my laptop encourages me to continue writing until my novel is finally finished. Sometimes I get so involved with the climaxes as each plots thickens, that I forget the stresses of the real world. There is no such thing as bored when you are playing in your mind.

Writing down a beautiful experience is a way to not only relive it, but to embalm it onto paper and keep it forever. If you miss the beach and its salty breeze, or the way the Sun ripples across the top of the warm water write about it. If you miss your childhood memories of playing sneaks, a first kiss or sports in the summer heat, write about it. I have so many short stories that I’ve written for my children when they were small. I have some that they helped to me write, even though they more than likely don’t remember. These are gifts I can give them when they're older. Memories that you can't watch, but you can only feel as you read along with a voice from long ago. I can't encourage people enough to find local writing groups. Imagination is a beautiful thing. I feel as though you can never be truly lonely if you can figure out how to tell yourself stories. Or maybe that's just the way I’ve convinced myself that, I'm not crazy, after being an at-home-mom for all these years.

Writing, music, and art, they're all ways to create. To create a feeling, or a thought. Have you ever been driving down the road and had a song come on and it takes you back to high school? Suddenly you find yourself laughing, or crying, that's what it feels like to write about something that you're truly passionate about. Criticism can be hard however. Someone telling you that you're not descriptive enough, or that they can't “see” what they’re being shown in your carefully selected words. Just like with anything though, society creates its own boundaries and wants you to color inside of the lines. Personally, I think the most incredible works of art are the ones scribbled by a small child, or nature’s tiny little bird prints in the newly fallen snow. I like to think of myself as rebellious when I write. All rules go out the window and heart takes over. To me spontaneous episodes of happiness or spare of the moment fun are the times we should cherish the most. I see memes on social media all the time like “live, love, laugh” or “It’s not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” I think they’re precious, but how often do we really do this?

The world is an amazing place if we can learn to let it live through us. If we can learn to relax and absorb what gifts it can give to our senses. I am a writer. This is how I express myself. However you express yourself, do it. Whether you crank up the radio at a red light and sing loud enough to stop traffic, or whether you sleep under the stars breathing in the earthy air. Just remember to feel. It’s easy enough to find yourself building up that wall, and shutting out the chaos of the mainstream, especially in the winter months, just remember to live. Life is too short too not try to feel everything.

Barefoot...

Take me to a place where needs are melon void. Where trees swallow my attention and dirt cuddles with my toes. I want to run threw a meadow to find a creek, and splash like a child, searching for treasure. I want to chase a dragonfly that danced by my shoulder, down into a valley blessed with black eyed suzie’s. Though we spook grazing deer, they do not run, just watch. As I would breath deep and smile, lying on my back, allowing the sun to cradle me in its arms. I wish this moment could take my hand and guide me to this peace every time I close my eyes.

My Place

Of all of the places, in all of the world, I would like to take you to a field. It is a place that completes me. As a child I ran and grew with the wild milk weed at my side. Heated by the sun, and warm with love; This breathless landscape was sown together with morning glories; black eyed Suzie’s and Queen Ann’s lace.

            The beautiful smells of strawberries, blackberries and raspberries would tickle at my belly. The sounds of the poplar trees flirting with the wind would make me feel safe. Everything was always okay as long as their leaves sang gently into my ears. Over their whispers I could hear the buzz of locus and the soft “who” of the morning doves searching for love.

            Depending on the flowers, which were in bloom, I knew if the summer was slipping from my fingers and falling asleep in the autumn breeze. When the mustard plants grew tall and milk weed bloomed like little corn husks, the fire flies disperse, I begin to sadden. Then at that moment, more than ever, I would urn for the smell of apple blossoms and lilacs. Returning my thoughts of spring. They encircle this perfect spot like a picture frame, holding my memories for eternity. These amazing trees strong and tall, bared the fruits that filled my creativity.

            It is amazing how a square of weeds can raise a child up to respect life and to love unconditionally. Such a cherished place shall never go to waste. I now as an adult with my family live here. I built my dream where it all began. I will now and forever grow with the ever changing seasons. My family and I will blossom with the spring and sleep with the fall, making jam with its berries and pies with its apples. We will feed our hearts and souls until one day, at Gods call, we return to its rich soil.