I want to write, but every time I sit down I feel my energy evaporate like moisture on hot pavement.
Five months pregnant, and my orbit has grown small. Small so that it only encompasses my growing family. As small as the round circle of the milky white moon climbing rung by rung into to the heavens through the branches of the tree. As small as a dinner plate.
At the end of the day I curl up on the couch with a head full of daydreams. Suddenly I’ve been having images of paintings I want to create. The slightest whisps of glimmers for stories, like the first hint of smoke in the autumn air.
I am content to wait. Content to let making minestrone soup from scratch and cornbread muffins be enough accomplishment for the day.
And we’re content to read any little bit of loveliness you feel like posting
I remember that feeling. Sometimes during pregnancy #2 when my oldest was with the grandparents I would sit in a chair with a cup of tea until the cup was cold and empty and I would have no idea what happened to the past hour. I think I just sat there and looked around our quiet apartment. I have no idea. For me curling inward during pregnancy was the natural position.
My experience has been that those moments are the ones which widen and deepen my soul, linking me to the universe in the same way a screen door moves when unlatched.
Part of being an artist is learning how to be patient, to wait for inspiration and creative energy to flow. Making minestrone from scratch sounds like the perfect way to pass the time and percolate.
Minestrone can be art, too.