I’ve read more end of year musings than I care to count. I have nothing to add along these lines but will instead set the scene. Felled with acute bronchitis I’m tucked up in bed with prescriptions, tissues, honey-lemon drops and 2 little rescue dogs who are snug in the down comforter and seemingly content that a human is staying in bed today. I can expect no sympathy from these two.
Harrington Cove is seemingly frozen solid outside the window, but I know that somewhere underneath the surface a sluggish tide advances and retreats as it’s supposed to do, below zero weather or not. The snow is piled high and has remained on some of the trees that are more sheltered in the pine woods. The deck and planters have turned into intriguing sculptures with undulating white curves. The shadows cast by the planters are blue.
All I can do is look at what Mother Nature has made and wish I was making something myself. Was on a roll with some pieces and now I can only think longingly of the studio. Some muse or other is taking me an entirely new direction. When things are cooking like this a certain momentum builds up. If you stop part way, it can be easy to lose your way. I think of this rare combination of insight and hard work as a flowing river. Once you step out of it, you can’t return to the same place.