Turbulence

Pulled to a thousand compass points this week, tending those I love, stumbling on some accounts, pockets brimming with worry. And also waves of astonishment as I seem to have tripped into a new energy field where tectonic shifts in the landscape have set me atilt, askew, akimbo.

Cryptic enough for ya?

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I'm participating in the creation of yet more new pieces at my second home, the glass factory, and hot-damn it's thrilling! Grateful for the gift of it, I am. Melinda jets off to another wholesale show next week, to filo-dough-fee-uh, and we're in the rush of the last minute of it now, the ever-evolving swirl (and sometimes clang) of glass and pigment and my favorite paint names (and favorite colors): Prussian blue, alizarin crimson, Payne's grey, perylene maroon, irridescent Aztec.

The cats doze, one on bags of bubble wrap stuffed back into a closet, the other snoring on a high shelf beside a window. Outside, squirrels burgle the suet feeders, while green finches wait in tittering impatience.

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These words from a friend gifted with keen insight and rare wisdom:

We seem to be at that mid-life place where tolls are collected with sorrow as payment… a time to invest in the graces of gratitude and the present, and give in to knowing the limits to what can be promised....