At the beginning of this whirlwind, i felt inspired to leap across rivers and caverns (artistically speaking). I felt like i was finally secure in my artistic talent. I felt proud to call my self an artist and thought i had untapped a hidden river of passion for my crazy version of doodling and obsession with trees.
Life settled down and i swore to myself i wouldn't loose my alter ego of artistic feistyness. Ive realized over the last month, i did just that. Where did it go? Did i leave it in the pocket of my favorite jeans and wash it like so many receipts of things that have to be returned to target? Did i simply hide it in one of my beloved trees, forgotten and safe?
Things were supposed to be different, the green of spring was finally here. I should be inspired beyond all belief. I wasn't, and began to panic. Not a crazy, rip the house apart kind of panic...but a maybe I'm not who i thought i was kind of panic. Which was depressing, i really liked the feisty version of me.
Then something happened today. At first it was nothing. Just a pause at my mailbox. Looking at the dense lush forest that lined my street. A simple word lingered in my brain. hope. And inspiration was mine again. A few other things happened that gave me the courage to connect the dots, but here i am all the same. The wonderful thing about being inspired, is when you finally are, the source is sometimes obvious.
