in the spirit of the solstice I am beginning “again”.
I have come to realize that I cannot separate all that I am. To put the writer in one box and the artist in another. In essence I am a maker, one who makes.
and sometimes I just write it out:
no bravery here. just an upward plod with the occasional slide backwards. one foot in front of the other. your breath pushes against your lips until your mouth must open. a small song trickles out, its soft notes barely patterning the air. your footsteps are louder. big clumsy things marking and marring. attempted footholds jarring loose noisy stones, thunderous boulders.
the thing to do is to stop. plant your feet on the ground and hold firm. from your vantage point view your surroundings. take one look back. look ahead but not too far. keep steady. sing. rhythmically. wear your heart on your sleeve. move forward. take fear as your guide up the mountain.