I've been walking more, long walks, now that the weather is at least giving us sun breaks for an hour at a time. The winter rains really wore my spirit down, I must admit. But this week I stood up to the rain and said, "Look, I know you're here for good reasons, but I'm getting on with it - so come as you will." It actually helped. I went for a walk and the smell of new plum blossoms wafted over me. I heard birds, newly returned to the dead thistles and teasel in the side roads. The streams were full of symphonies from both right and left- stereo without electricity.
As I returned from my walk and headed up our gravel drive and first caught sight of the barn with the donkeys lounging nearby, I was jolted back - back to a feeling I had when I first brought little Pino home some 7 years ago. Seeing him in the field brought me such joy and comfort for months on end - it never really goes away, mind you, but one does get more jaded of the joie de vivre of having a little donkey after when one's head is clouded with winter rain debris. Now please, kind readers, don't write and tell me how graced I am here, I know. But I'm human, and yes, even the magic of Apifera can seem invisible at times of doubt, darkness or distress.
I came back to the studio and instead of office work, or writing - which takes me internal so deep inside my own head that it can weight me, I heard something in me, inviting me to paint. I hadn't painted for awhile since I've been immersed in book projects to be pitched.
This is the painting I did in sync with one of my muses. The woman is much more of a child, but that child came to remind the woman of the magic surrounding her.
I thank the smell of the plums and the river's song for bringing my muse to me.