This fall and winter, I am inviting two new words to guide my creative life: attention and mischief.
A few days after Christmas I’m eating veggie curry watching the sea through the window. There’s a lighthouse on a little island that appears and disappears through the clouds. Sometimes there are figures walking on the headland near the tower.
I’m here as a kind of halfway house—after spending Christmas with my family in the suburbs and before going back to my tiny studio in the city centre.
All of the things are blooming. Have you noticed? June is here. The Cecil Brunner rosebush is magnificent this year--an explosion of flowers so heavy that its top has fallen away from the white wall of the little city cottage where Lucia is made, and is spilling toward the alleyway. There is a lesson here for me, in expectation and fruition...
Sunday, April 9, 2017 - Daily Notes, From the Editor (550 words). Whoa, April is intense. Burgeoning. This thing we call Spring is aptly named. To the untrained eye, new growth appears suddenly, but if you have been paying attention you know: this all started long ago.
Happy New Year! Oh, the plans I had for ending 2016 with a neat bow, a perfect email, and an announcement of a new offering I've been working on for early 2017. Out the window they flew sometime in the last week while I struggled to balance heart work with paid work, dreams with reality. Instead, I woke this morning unfinished. Like I always do...
Walking in the winter city woods yesterday at noon with a friend. Listening. We are all so tired. I gave her permission to not be a fighting warrior right now. "It is December," I heard myself say. "Nothing is happening on the surface except death. Real life is hidden, it is beneath, it is underground. It is like soil being nourished. It is time for us to rest and listen..."
My niece who is nearly three would not let her mother leave the store last week without a blue solar-powered yard ornament that consists of one oversized Christmas lightbulb at the end of a long black stick. Most children want toys. She wanted something different. "My beautiful wand," she whispered...
