Still dark more than light, dark in the morning and dark at night. Quiet now, between the end of one productive year and the start of the next one. Play time for some. Away time for some. Time for reflection upon, for pursuit of, or avoidance of, whatever moves us …
I’m working on three projects – each a variation upon, a version of, inspiration. I can capture inspiration in a month. I could cover it in a week, or workshop it warp-speed in a day. But in an hour? In ten minutes? In one sentence? In a word?
Thoughts, like run-on sentences – no end in sight, rambling, roaming everywhere – spilling everywhere like flowing liquid, covering everything, sticking to everything they touch.
Shortened sentences required …
Oh my, what a phrase, that one is.
Prison to a writer. Freedom to a prisoner.
Inside myself, anything is possible. Turning myself inside out, like shelling peas. Once you’ve broken open to reveal those treasures inside, everything changes. The pod is never the same, peas are loosened from where they’ve been formed. From a small group of things that fit together they are now swimming in a bowl of near-identical specimens. Mixed together, like people in a crowd or in traffic, like ants on their hill. All the same. Look the same, feel the same. Why are we any different? We all look mostly the same – two legs, two ears, shoes and coats. We all drive cars – 4 tires, 4 fenders, two bumpers.
All see the world the same way.
We aren’t peas.
written / published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: -15C/5F, snappy wind biting my face (warming predicted for the next few days so I expect it will be a slush-mushy new year’s weekend), half-moon and star-lit, we mushed through some deep snow and called it a work-out! Gusta happy to be home munching, I’m happy to be back in ‘daily routine’ mode as holiday days are shrinking toward zero …