A random babbling on creative spirits-

Random babbling on the creative spirit~painting, sewing, baking, boys, an irresistable God and the next 200 feet~

Sunday, December 5, 2010


I rise before the sun. I love the darkness of 3am; there's anticipation in it-a lifting of spirits in the quiet, distant sleep-muttered noises that envelope my home. A comfort in the aloneness that is not at all lonely. With the Northwest winter dawn not due for more than 4hours I relish this aloneness like the warmth of a lover's discarded sweater retrieved off the floor in the shaft of moonlight through the frost-speckled window.
Will the light of day bring sunsoaked skies? Will the clouds so familiar to the western Washington hours be light-diffuse among the rays of approaching sun-or heavy with a morning of rain showers and rides to school?
With a honey-kissed cup of tea, musings-filled journal, pen, devotions and bible close at hand I am surrounded by all I need in these early moments. Thoughts that went flying, memories that surfaced and scattered, to do's that persistently peck peck peck, attentions that relentlessly hang on; all put gently back into place, stored in their compartments alongside today, tomorrow and yesterday as I absorb all that is before me and come to the beginning.

I ask, as always in this moment, What is this day for me? Where am I? Where do I work?

My daily determination to attend to this body takes me on a walk just after sunrise; I am not at home where streetlights guide my footfalls when I head out at my favored 5am. Today the rising light of dawn serves as my only light in the gravel-strewn street.
At the end of the hill as the headwaters approach, a small boat with the outboard motor sputtering takes the last swing into dock. Stepping onto solid ground, teetering with a heavy load of fish and an equally weighted smile, a fisherman thrills at my 'good morning' as an opportunity to share his fishing good-fortune with an audience multiplied by 2~I came alongside his dog to witness his bounty~A gift not received each morning; the bounty or the audience.

Smiling my way back up the hill, the incline isn't as breath taking nor heart pumping as it was on the incoming side. Carrying a smile makes the steps swift and the elevation come to level.

The phone never intended to ring rings. I've just returned to my cave tucked under the expanse of studio space I've ensconced myself in for a two week term of residency. After 8 days of no voice, my son's uplifted, enhthusiastic 'hello momma' filled with expoundings on the beauty of the morning he wakes to-with frost on the grass and crisp breath visible-are welcome beyond imagining. He touches me in a way I didn't know needed touching. The silent, played out in determination to offer guidance through quite rather than words, seems to have touched down in just the right way.

To talk with silence: I am learning this.

Just two hours into waxen creations the slidding wall dividers to the adjoining studio strain open. The solar-powered studio production engineer emerges-bouncing on his toes. The excitement is palpable; perhaps simply born of the fact that there is a listening ear present to attend to his sharing....
His words and enthusiasm capture me as I turn back to the wax, just long enough to apologize to it for my neglect as I unplug its heat-realizing my attention is called elsewhere: to enthusiasm today.
Resigning with a light heart and a smile that this is, I am.

It's not about what I do, it's about who I touch~
in love. trish

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