a different kind of attention

there are moments tucked in, that seem almost stolen. quiet before sleeping, sometimes, or a lull when driving…in those moments I realize I am nearly starved for that kind of quiet, that kind of relative stillness, that kind of unhooked, uncharted time.

Creativity, for me, has always needed space.

It is a dance of gathering, ¬†fermenting, ¬†distilling… and each part of my process takes a different kind of time, a different kind of attention.

I realize that this space, in this moment in my life, comes unexpectedly, usually without a plan, may, in fact, go unnoticed, and I need to be aware of openings…

Two days ago it was a stretch of driving when the road turned to liquid with a change in the index of refraction near the surface due to intense heat. I don’t care why, and did not care why, what I cared about was the liquid, the way it ran away from me as I approached, how it reflected cars that seemed to hover or float, elicited easy dreams of oases, a realization of how easy it would be to imagine water, always just out of reach.

Today it was hay fields and meadows, a million colors of green, burgundy, tan…velvet topped and moving like a tiny inland sea, bending under a breeze in waves and waves and waves

(gather, i whispered to myself, notice. gather.)

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