Depression can mask rage, I am told.

Well, yeah.

For the past few days I’ve been lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon wheel rut. Making myself put one foot in front of the other as keeping moving is helpful. Took a nice walk yesterday (had to push myself out the door) and nature heals me and I spotted a gorgeous yellow-orange western tanager in a tree. Watched chickadees raid pinecones. There was a loud crash and I thought a moose might emerge from the forest (nope). Osprey were flying overhead.

This morning I woke up in a fury. The layer under my blues, perhaps? I’m mad. I’m mad at things I have no control over. I’m mad at my brother for some of his choices that I now have to deal with that make my head hurt. I’m mad mad mad.

But I kind of welcome the rage, as now I can feel it and let it pass through me and into the rocky mountains beneath my feet. Things will shift. There will be release.

Emotions are weird. I’m glad I can converse with them. They are important and teach me a great deal. I wonder if my getting my paints out yesterday to express grief is helping this tumble and flow of feelings. I’m thinking yes.

16″ x 16″ ink, watercolor, pencil, acrylic, oil pastel on paper = $385