Gusts suddenly gain power and slam around up here in the mountains, and I rush to close doors and windows as a downpour may be imminent.
It’s exciting and amazing.
Then, 20 mins later, it’s like nothing happened. It’s calm. It’s sunny.
How do those Aspen leaves hang on, anyways? So resilient and structurally sturdy. But they make a wonderful sound as they get blown about. Shoosh. Shooshing.
The healing swirls around me too, like the winds. Moments of insight pop up unexpectedly, and I can let go of tired old tropes I learned as a kid. Like loneliness is a part of my world. It’s who I am. Might as well adapt to the isolation, humans will certainly betray and disappoint. Beliefs inhaled as a child become a kind of protection, a cloak I put on to help me tiptoe through life, stealthily. Invisibly. Desperately seeking safety.
But sometimes I find grace, and can let the exhausted, musty old ghosts go and embrace love and connection. This is a miracle. Amazing, when it shows up.
[Worked on this painting to hopefully sell in an Estes Park gift shop; sometimes I see local Bald Eagles engaged in in-air battles with Osprey, seemingly in territorial battles]
5″ x 7″ watercolor, ink, acrylic pen on paper
