my little cozy house is in complete and utter disarray. poor, neglected table at the window: see the sad blue flowers, long spent and past presentable state? see the petals scattered there across the table (the table with the cloth that has not been changed in weeks, perhaps a month)? what can i say? i'm busy. dear firefly house, i do not mean to ignore you, i truly don't. but work calls me into the studio, errands pull me into town (and into the side of someone's car the other day as i backed out of my parking spot), chores mount up and fall against one another like so many dusty dominos. i am, in essence, the eccentric reclusive artist who walks around stacks and piles of papers, who notices not the need for vacuuming. what i notice, though, is the day that waits outside these windows, the sunny morning that drew me out onto the deck to photograph the way the sun was falling through the screen and onto the wicker chairs.
i noticed, then, the distressing fuss of the resident firefly crows, whose voices and actions i've grown to know in intimate form since moving here to the countryside some three short years ago: they screamed and cried in unison, not the call of busy-ness but more the frantic shout of threat to other crows to be on immediate alert. the culprit? expecting to see the now familiar redtailed hawk in the sky or perched nearby on a tree, i glanced up from my camera and spotted a coyote casually loping (and if you've ever seen one moving, you'll understand precisely what i mean by loping) down the dirt driveway that divides my property from the meadow next door. a coyote. right there, moving along as if he had a precise destination and mission in mind. and me, standing there with mouth hanging open, camera idle at my side. magic. utter magic. and with that, he or she crossed the road, headed down to the stream, and disappeared. thank you, spirit behind the wonders of this universe, i thank you for pulling me out onto that deck at a moment i needed to be there. and i realize now, as i've realized so many times before, that magic lies not in looking through the eye of the camera but in the ability to be right there in the beauty of the moment as it wraps itself around me, then is gone. poof. just like that.
well. it was magnificent, if fleeting. and i wonder just how many moments like that i or you have missed just because we were huddled inside, looking down at the keyboard or into the gaping eye of the computer, rather than stepping out the door to heed a sudden call?
so. back inside i go. suitcases stand at silent attention, waiting to be filled (and this i put off as long as possible, to avoid aspen's inevitable anxiety). projects lie half completed on the studio table, amidst a flurry of papers and cloth and jewels all mixed up into one big nina mess. i spend hours at my working station digging through piles that are not in any random order, cursing under my breath (or right out loud) when i can't find that one smooth stick, the strand of teal freshwater pearls, the square of beaded silk from so many years ago. want to see a few glimpses of what my hands have been creating on and off this week?
i've been having a lot of fun, doing what i do: creating, breathing, observing, touching, wrapping my arms around my life and holding it as closely as i can. this next journey i'm taking will carry me to faraway lands, new grounds to me - but waiting there will be ones i've grown to know and love, and that will make it seem like a place i've always been. do come with me; let's share this adventure together. xo