Monday, November 18, 2013
Up, Out and Move
There is a restlessness I feel. Uncertain whether it is the change of season or the fact that this time of year always seems to unearth projects like knitting, freshening up the interior of the house or tackling stacks of books or writing that novel. I become a tad anxious and overwhelmed, but immersion in nature, I believe will stimulate self-truth, upright the ship for a voyage to face whatever lies ahead in this journey.
Innately, I feel like running out into the wilderness of my backyard, touching every living surface particularly noting the sights, smells and feeling of nature. I wish to see the light of the sun through the paper thin bark of a white birch, the loose end unwrapped and flapping softly to mark a passing breeze. I wish to feel the cold under my bare feet as I race on a whim to the garden where the towering sunflower skeletons, hollowed and lifeless stand ready to catch the snow with petals shriveled and the color of creamy coffee. This is not the way one writer should experience life-sedentary from the arm of a chair, living life vicariously. I need to get up, out and move.