saturday morning {tuesday artist date night}

I wanted to get out early, to feel the world when it was fresh, I wanted to soak up its newness and feel renewed. 

But instead I am out in the early afternoon, when the world has warmed and the fresh eggs have all been purchased from the local growers at the farmers market. 

Where am I to find inspiration amongst my dashed expectations?

I sit down on the grass in a sweet town square, the vestiges of the market standing and coming down at its perimeter.  I look at the time -- I have a limit.

I need to find my inspiration fast or I will return without it -- what a waste. 

And then I catch myself.  What impossible circumstances have I created?  This pressure and conjecture will not create what I long for. 

And at first that is all I know.

And then I begin to write.

Without a plan.

My pen meets pad and my heart breathes a sigh of relief...

With gratitude,

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