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The words aren’t coming.
They will. They always do, eventually. But not yesterday. And not today, either, ...apparently. Too much swirl. Too much… hmmmmmm, reluctance? Self recrimination? Reticence to get swept into something that isn’t me, or what I really want? Doesn’t really matter.
Most days I’d rather do the work than talk about the work. Rather create than talk about creativity. Too much like having a meeting about meetings.
Some days the best thing I know to do is go walkabout. Take all that fidgety energy, my endless list of complaints and most bragworthy accomplishments to the birds and the dragonflies. See if they’re impressed. Or if, you know, maybe they’ll take a few minutes to listen to my complaints, tell me how unfairly I’ve been treated, what a misunderstood genius I really am. Yeah… almost certainly, that’s how it’ll go this time.
It’s never gone that way yet. Not even once. But, you know, hope springs eternal, eh?
Meantime… Ducks, and dragonflies. And songbirds. And frogs.
A wildlife refuge and miles of wetland trails and smells.
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I read the name of this creature and imagine being given that name, Cardinal Meadowhawk as an American Indian child, a moniker to live up to. Feels so auspicious. So poetic and powerful at the same time. Such big medicine.
Cardinal Meadowhawks are some of the first dragonflies to emerge each year and thrive from southern British Columbia down the west coast of the U.S. all the way to Chile and Argentina in South America.. Their Latin name, Sympetrum, means "with rock" and refers to their habit of basking on rocks to absorb heat early in the day. They hunt from perches on rocks or bare branches and have a characteristic perching posture, allowing their wings to droop below their thorax.
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So, no great feast of wisdom here. No lyrical majesty or million dollar quotes.
Sit with the silent times, when the muse isn’t speaking. Don’t try to hurry past it. Sit with it. Listen. Don’t waste your currency with your readers by resorting to lame juggling acts of words and sarcasm, or ‘look what I can do’ bullshit to fill up the silence. Don’t try to psyche ‘it’ out so that ‘it,’ whatever that is will release you from your temporary, literary paralysis and allow you your next hit of ‘Oh thank god, somebody liked it…’ dopamine.
Great music is as much about the spaces between notes as the notes.
It’s easy to forget that.
But the truth lives there…
in the spaces between.
And we can (I swear it’s true), learn to love them.
Seems like you DID find words, ignored even trying to explain the poetry of that magnificent lily pad photo, and went about your business, encouraging us to get off our butts and find a wildlife refuge
Those photos are just incredible. The colors!!