An observer would have noted the moment of instantaneous recognition between the two of us. Between the mutual tears, he told me a story of my father I had not heard before..
As I chase the sun in a daily tandem race with time, I have this dream for myself…and another one too…a selfish desire, no doubt, or maybe one of the best of human miracles.
A woman, owning country land? Paying taxes? Being ok? Divorced? Yes. Yes to all, yes.
I was so wrong. I regret my lack of understanding and effort in beginning on the ‘open roads’. They were my roads. And yes, others were on the same road. They too began where I began, travelling, lookinf for their one road. All of our roads began as one.
As we met the lake, the sky softened from clear blue to an enveloping grey in the haloed light of the setting sun.
After months of procrastinating, I finally made the form for the light installation at the Matthias building…
I have a survivor story to share with you, but I have not really done so with a full head of steam. Any less an effort is not my best. I am absolutely scared to evolve…of breaking the thread between the past and the now. Yet, I must.
I would write a beautiful book, a beautiful story… But it may not be pretty….
Now the pre-dawn glow of Christmas tree lights and lazy embers from the fire nudged me awake, gently reminding me that I had no pressure of a day’s schedule.
A creative path might not be the smooth ease of calm, expressive seas nor the decorated, celebrated angst of artistry…