Winter Blues

I’ve been dormant for a couple of months. Generally, I take pleasure in observing what is humorous and kind and lovely, but at times I am smothered with an illusion of struggle and my focus shifts.  I hardly notice that I’m scrutinizing my life, expecting to unearth chunks of resistance and opposition that I think have to be trimmed away before I can produce anything worthwhile.

I meander down a rabbit hole, poking around trying to find and fix the problem, looking for that which keeps me from being creative, from zooming in on and perceiving the delightful and funny moments that occur each day, pouring my energy and attention into contemplating what might be wrong, ruminating and brooding, chewing on the thought that there must be something inadequate in me that I must overhaul before I can return to my creative life.

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Then, like a breath, I am reminded that there is nothing amiss and all that is needed is a slight heart adjustment, a movement away from feeling like I am not enough and a gazing towards gratefulness and truth and being once more perceptive to color, texture, line and shape. I breathe, walk, and smell the rain.  Stories and ideas spark, joy bubbles and I think in pictures once again.

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