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,
Joanna
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