How does one make change? A breath at a time? Mostly I have Not made change. Change has made me, found me Always not ready, afraid in the wake Change has wrought. Thus, even now, I come to it, reins slack Knowing it needs ridden well On the bit.
What have I been doing staying here? Learning to live a single person, alone. I’ve got it. I am doing it, not always well, but doing. Okay, done. Time, really, to consider what I now want. These past years I have leaned on friends, Used to living within the aura of together, Proxies for you. Invested too much in others, not So much on me, need to learn, now I see that.
A week and a weekend later, I have chosen Someone who may be capable of guiding Return to life. I am no Lot’s wife, what I look to is not Back to what I had, however much That is missed. Unlike Lot’s wife, however the past was good, You went elsewhere, away without me. How that hurts.
This weekend I chose to do a thing for me: Two days spent in a workshop considering Health for me In body, in mind. I have come to a place Where I am willing to ask: how do I do this? Go on living, More, go on and thrive, know happiness, again, Again, I need remember my Dear would want Me good again. .
A wonderful gift given, a jar to write A days happiness in. I write: I am here. That is it. Then, then scrape and scrap the latest painting, thinking I am here. Where. Really? so what. Your dogs, our dogs are underfoot, I am here, still, only because of them. Otherwise, really, why?
In the midst of gray again, My task this day to spend In this now, All the moments of making My studio workable again, of the Company of dogs, Of being alone, doing things I needed doing. All good. Only, I miss Those times, listening to the rain, Woven in camaraderie with my love, With my Dear.
Woke to a soft rain falling. The kind of day I like for the quiet grayness, The pattering of rain, For falling into the satisfaction Of my work. Then went to support a friend Whose mother died. I’ll not have An open casket.
Friends’ daughter will come Stay with them. Helped with a few things, Then they fed me. Invitations with others are so nice, for In the swing of days, these interludes are at times Sweet moments between the busy Of my days, which is good. Because other times These visits lapse into the only reason For a day, and I have yet again neglected my now.
Somedays I feel just about capable to touch All of life’s goodnesses that can come my way again. How to do that, how to to it, reach out, And change. I am a weal person who relied So much on you. So much, and here I am, mired in yesterday, Tomorrow and missing it is today decisions Need be made
Filled with gold, I wrote - about a soul, a being, And even the hours of a day and how best to Fill each moment. This day I cooked for friends who came This evening, to sit around my table, to eat, Chat, and laugh. It is still not you, my Dear, never will be. But it is good, I am thankful for sweet Evenings with friends.
Painted this morning, listening to the news On the radio, thinking about this and that, A few things: A quote about the two days in a year that Nothing can be done, yesterday, tomorrow; while I neglect todays. Ponder a word I'll hold near this year, Perhaps somethings cracked sometimes heal best Filled with gold.
Early on this journey a few good friends Emerged, and for this I am so grateful, but - Yes a but - Time has passed, lives evolve, move beyond, Shift - to my chagrin. For through those dear friendships did I regain a stability. Rocked now by these Changes, I again must learn to shift Through my mind Into an only mode, hoping this past care Of my allies, will help peace, courage, to be Once again mine.
Five years, it has been; five years ago by this time I felt only devastated, afraid, numb, surreal and Scared into disbelief. Five years and now I know you are ever heart-held Soul-twined, and although heart-broken, through all a Seam of kintsugi Gold laces my spirit and my being into a new essence, That only now I am recognizing as another sweet Gift from you.
Once wrote wanted: a place where painting, Is fulfilling, where I have a sense of community. Still feel this. What is keeping me from going, finding such? What holds me, beyond that you were here? What binds me Here hard enough to freeze me? What, who do I feel I am failing if I stay, If I go?
Left the north in snow and slush, Wearing sweaters and hugs to drive Through foggy rain. Tears fell for you, yet know the time comes To embrace awareness of what I need, what Will heal me. You will always be my touchstone, my love, The heart that carries me forth. But now? Forth I need go.
Left mid-day for our friends’ northern home. I am of mixed feelings that he has moved So far away. Panama, but he is intrigued and happy. I am glad for him but of course fear Seeing him less. Still, the friendship holds steady. Eventually I will surely visit, simply, gladly, Honoring our bonds
The Studio at Line's End Farm is where I paint and try to find some joy again, and some equilibrium, not simple these days. One weblog records thoughts, ideas, methods and mixtures, palettes, observations, actually anything that intrigues me concerning my painting and working in the studio. Another observes only the horse in paintings that I find influential. The last are done for my sanity. All are my opinion only, open to other suggestions.