Trail

For a while now, I've been sitting on a big rock by a lake. Figuratively speaking, of course. Just watching the snow tip the branches, marveling over little birds snatching red berries, dropping them onto the ice. The ice crackles, and I sit. Nowhere to go in particular.

The other day, a friend recommended I take a look at The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity. I've taken a look before: not interested.

But, you know, I've been sitting on this rock just kind of drifting through the days, so what the heck. Why not crack open a book to keep me company.

It's a scary book, in my opinion. It's asking me to get back on the trail, with me in mind. All my don't-you-be-selfish antennae are up, ready to stop this new leg of the journey before I start. It feels safer to stay on my big rock, watch the birds stealing bird-berries.

But, you know, the sun feels different these days. Warmer. (In real life, not just this imaginary place I'm rambling about.) So I'm thinking, what could it hurt? Spring is nipping at winter's heels in real life (don't let the snow fool you... the sun is warmer... can you feel it?), so maybe I could let it woo me onto a new trail.

I'm on a pilgrimage after all. Let's see where this trail might lead...

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"Creativity is like crabgrass— it springs back with the simplest of care." Julia Cameron

"Every blade of grass has its Angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'" The Talmud