Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Woods.

There's been a recurring theme in my life of late. Things are simplified, then paths begin to present themselves, veins of tomorrow, viscous with possible plasmas, threading sideways, borne of a root idea, but reaching to find a feeding ground of their own. And once the trunk can no longer bear the weight of so much possibility, I enter an Autumn of Inspiration, and let things die, that they may sprout again stronger.

I am no longer surprised by the coming of Spring. I have become a constant gardener, and as each new idea blossoms, I am slowly, patiently, learning to tend to it the attention it deserves. Last year, all I wanted was to build upon the roots I had planted by sheer chance, and it came to be. These days a new harvest approaches. One that requires a more deliberate approach. Careful planning. The right equipment. A studied calculation of the essence of all life.

Risk.

Outside I enjoy the empty sky, the wind whisper in my mind - far riskier never to risk.

And the mind, busying itself with such ponderings, begins to build Woods which strengthen with age, become deeper, more magical, a place of creation and safety.

In which to risk it all.


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