a river's garden studio

In the dream, I am living in some indeterminate time delineated only by the late atmosphere of the sky at dusk, a house alone in the mountains and my moving silhouette sharp against the moorland light, happy at the end of a working day in some old northern landscape, rearing sheep and walking, with two tired, panting dogs at my side, to a lighted kitchen, the last embers of the fire brought to life by my kneeling. But one thing remains the same in this abstraction, when I look over my shoulder and smile, you are there to greet me, to take my hand and walk with me in the last of the precious light, talking together of some future that cannot be imagined even by my ideal. Our love of dreaming together, as good as any future arrival.

The only way to be creative is to try everything. We learn by making mistakes. We must be critical of ourselves and have the courage to start all over again after each failure. Only then do we really absorb, really start to know.

acottageinthewoods:

Sit and be still until in the time of no rain you hear beneath the dry wind’s commotion in the trees the sound of flowing water among the rocks, a stream unheard before, and you are where breathing is prayer.

Somewhere unwritten poems wait, like lonely lakes not seen by anyone.

What in your life is calling you, when all the noise is silenced, the meetings adjourned, the lists laid aside, and the wild Iris blooms by itself in the dark forest, what still pulls on your soul?