Be Silly

Silly
Giving yourself permission to be silly will nourish your creativity and is a good exercise in letting go! (personal photo from a proud nephew’s wedding day last summer)

Shadow Lake

The road winds into the distance
rocks, roots, puddles and mud
draw them higher.
Each step one closer to the lodge
built years ago by others
who passed beneath more youthful trees.
Trees that now bend and sway
creak and groan as they lean
to hear conversation below,
chatter to ease the monotony
of the upward stretch.

Clouds twist and tumble
tease with grey and blues swirls,
jackets on and off
in rhythm with their play.

Each stride squashes every day worry.
Layers of adult responsibility shed
as boots splash and smiles spread.
Friends greet each other,
prairie dogs happy to ascend to the alpine,
to explore new territory.
Covered in mud they giggle,
children who play in the rain
because they can.

The Pen, My Friend

ink splash

The pen, my friend, lays quiet.
Aches for my touch.
I ignore it.
Too busy.
I flit here and there,
a gnat disturbing activities
just enough to be annoying
but not enough to make
a lasting difference.

My friend, the pen, waits.
Silent.
Until I have no choice
but to return.
I see her lying there calm and quiet.
I return to unleash chaos.
I splash ink across the page.
I saturate white with explosive ideas.
Thoughts that have been
hibernating, dormant,
hovering on the cusp of awareness,
release.
A frenzy of strokes and letters
circle up and down
until my pen begs to be put down.
It cries to be ignored again
so it can catch its breath,
relax,
dissolve into peace.

Infinite Possibility

white-room
(photo credit: katherinedutiel.com)
I awaken to a world of white.
Enveloped in a blank expanse.

A virgin future stares untouched before me.
A spotless past lay behind me,
no hint of transgressions of my ancestors visible.
No trace of the path I have taken to get here
can be seen.

I am
where there is no beginning and no end.
I am.

Energy hovers and buzzes around me
like hummingbirds darting for nectar
amid the hearts of flowers.
I am
lifted
in this weightless, buoyant atmosphere.

Crisp innocence,
raw purity,
emanate from within this vast whiteness.

An undefined fresh start,
full of contained excitement,
moves slowly through pearly air.

A helium balloon of potential drifts lazily,
waits for its attached strings to be caught
and creativity ignited.
A stark canvas
awaits the first stroke of freedom.