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.

Tiny hands big creek.

How fast the time flies by. Everyday closer to something new, yet further from things past. From Presidential elections being around the corner, to school shopping, the fairs, the rodeo, it seems endless. Summer is supposed to be relaxing. A time to refocus. Instead we find ourselves rushing from work to babysitters, sports, to home. Quick hellos and goodnights only to do it again the next day. I swear it seems that as an at home mom, I just watch the world buzzing around me like working bees preparing their hives.

I have decided, for now I'm looking at yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Settling on that concept, I decided that today I would take my nieces and eldest son to the creek behind my sister in law, Kim’s house. Exploring, teaching and becoming one with nature, is the only way I know to "slow time."

Boots on and mismatched Tupperware in hand, we walked down through the woods. The woods seemed to invite us. Welcoming us with its branches stretched to the sky. We hiked slowly passing beautiful wild flowers from periwinkle to jewel weed. The wild grapes draped over the apple trees as if offering us shelter from the rain if threatened. The bed of pine needles sponged under our feet as we walked giving us the illusion that they would be soft if we were barefoot. Poison ivy climbed up the trees left and right avoiding it was a daunting task.

Along the winding trail to the creek was a clearing littered with black raspberries. Filling our dishes and our bellies, we risked the scratches from the thorns for the delicious snacks. Quinn at four years old, looked up at me with her purple little smile and melted my heart as she explained to me that “They are better than candy Aunt Ivory!” Ashlynn repeated as much of grammas jam recipe as she could remember calling the berry patch a “gold mine.” I was impressed how much of it she could remember considering she is only 7.

As we reached the crest of the ravine my sister in law, Kim clutched her daughter's hands attempting to contain their childhood fearlessness. My 13 year old son, Jeffrey however shot down the embankment, feet first like a professional snowboarder. Once down, he offered his hand to the girls like a gentleman. The crisp water was so refreshing it almost took our minds off of the relentless mosquitos swarming. The stream that was normally only inches deep and about 10 foot wide, was swollen from the recent rain. There was debris along the edges as proof of this week’s storms. The crayfish however didn’t seem to care they were under every slate rock we lifted. They shot backwards swimming with incredible accuracy right into out hands.

Salamanders slithered threw the current with busy little agendas only to end up in clear Tupperware bowls. The girls ages 4 and 7 examined them with the purest eyes. “Why are they so soft? Why so many spots? Are they girls or boys? Do you think they like us?” Kim and I answered the best we could, whipping out our phones to google what little we were unsure of.  

With the sun setting over the tree tops we began to release our critters back into the water thanking them for their participation. Just then when we thought natures surprises were over, we heard a giant “whapping” sound right next to us. Focusing on the direction in which it came, we realized that we had been sharing the stream with a Blue Herron. “A dinosaur bird!” My nieces shouted. It flapped so strong and hard only to take fight delicately and slowly. We chatted about our adventure as we made our way back to their house.

My son and I got into the truck and I had a moment of bittersweet sadness. My kids are not getting any younger. Every bump, scratch and tear they have gotten while exploring the world has made them into who they are. Stronger and smarter than I could have ever expected. They have lived. The beauty of the outdoors has taught them so much about life. Where we live is amazing. Everything you need is right outside I hope as they leave this nest in the next few years that they never forget nature’s lessons.