Be Still and Write

Walasi-Yi. It's quiet here midweek, post Labor Day. Unlike my thoughts. They skitter, slide and bounce. A new direction has been presented and my brain is off and running. Yesterday was spent in research needed to determine what is possible. Online. Emails. Phone calls.

All that activity brought me back to what I already know: financially I am in a box with no wiggle room. My heart believes different and instructs my subconscious creator to make it happen. Then hurtles in to a tailspin, an emotional whirlwind of whys and why nots.

The poplars are turning yellow. Isolated leaves blown free by the capricious wind tumble to the ground where they will prepare the way for their brethren.

I close my eyes. The wind picks me up and carries me with it. Tenor chimes sing in time to my flight. Then I'm grounded once more as cars pull in to the parking lot and the footfalls of man approach.

So like life.

A fellow wanderer clicks pictures of the gorge. Another fills his water bottle.

The wind gathers in the treetops, its crescendo touching my soul. I think of August Rush who hears music in every sound. The leaves, the chimes, even the cars roaring by and the passenger doors slamming play a part in my mountain concerto.



Who does it call?

Or what?

I hear it shout, "Just be.

"Give your creator time to create."

"Be still and write."

And so I obey.

I am still.

I write.