Thinking tonight of childhood Easters, white straw hats, the scent of mud and shoots and the golden buds that Robert Frost called "nature's first green." As I said in my last post, it's still mid-winter here, and I'm fine with that, but the air today tasted warm even under all that blustery chill. Tomorrow's forecast, however, is for snow. Get ready for a photograph of a gravel-studded snowbank or a dirty snowman (I live in the city after all) or a slushy sidewalk. I promise not to wax rhapsodic about such things. My little ode to dust in the last post was as far as I'll go to romanticize dirt, and that was all in the name of justifying my laziness.
Can I share a secret with you? My life has changed so much in the past two months that I hardly recognize it, but the one golden ring that I cling to fiercely is that I am writing and creating more than ever. I have to remember to never let that go again. Someone please pinch me if I start to stray from my path. If that doesn't work, if I pigheadedly insist that something else is more important than living a creative and caring life, withhold all chocolate. That should wake me up.
Hope you are well, and dreaming wonders, and making magic.