One of the ways I fuel personal creativity is by immersing myself in Nature. I am fortunate to live in the middle of farm fields with hills, valleys, lake and sky out every window I look.
This morning I took a truly satisfying walk. I stepped out of the door into the cool sunny embrace of the day. I walked slowly, taking in the cornfields that the farmers have been harvesting, some already bare, some still standing. I saw the lake faraway, reassuring me that something is right in this world. The Amish farms, tidy and exuding industry and old-fashioned wholesomeness, were to my right as I walked down the hill. I could hear a killdeer shouting, crows gossiping and crickets singing a slower, cheerful early fall song. Doug the dog at the small house near the bottom of the hill stood sentinel and simply watched me. I continued carefully on by so as not to work him up. The sun warmed my right ear and my neck, the slight breeze held the edge of a chill. I remembered what my therapist told me last year: to take walks and just observe sight, sound, scent and relax into my surroundings. So I did not hurry and attempted not to think about calories burned or steps walked.
In the nestle of the hollow, I heard rustling of small fauna within the shelter of the trees and breathed in the sweet scent of decaying leaves. The creek was very low, nearly dry. As I came up the hill on the other side I noticed the hay rounds had been removed. I guess I should’ve snapped a shot of them when I had the opportunity. Maybe next year. After the shade of the wooded area, the sun warmed me considerably and I pulled off my sweatshirt, slinging it around my waist. An Amish buggy approached and a young woman with sunglasses waved as she passed, her black horse carrying her away. The sound of their buggies always causes me a bit of a fright. I guess I expect the grim reaper instead of a good Amish. I chalk it up to my overactive imagination. When I reached the corner where the horses stared at me I turned and headed home.
It was as if by doing an about-face the weather changed personalities. Out of the South a strong wind blew into my face and I walked uphill with dried corn stalks flying at me as the farmers harvested.
Trying not to get bits in my eyes, I squinted against the now glaring sun and kept my mind on home. The romance from earlier had definitely flown. As I passed the lower farmhouse, Doug barked twice to let me know he wasn’t fooled by my lack of interest. At last, I hauled myself into the shade of the driveway and felt an overwhelming sense of love and gratefulness for this house that shelters me from Nature and all her moods. I was definitely ready to be productive with the rest of the day. Indoors, that is.
Tell me about your walks and what they mean to you. I’d love to hear where you go and what the landscape is like where you live.
, she gives different writing practice scenarios: on one’s own at home, in a cafe, with a friend, at a retreat or other group, for a short time or for a day or longer.
Do you ever take where you live for granted? I must confess–I have. Not that I ever meant to, but I allowed my thoughts, the day-to-day stresses of my little world and all the activity in my schedule to blur the beauty of my surroundings.
by Clare Mackintosh was creepy, but not as much as I’d hoped for. Except for the very end, which makes me think there must be a sequel in the works.
by Jane Harper was much discussed, but I guessed who the murderer was early on. I hardly ever manage this, so I would say it was a bit of a let down. Also, the writing style was dry and dull, like the setting, so I wouldn’t read other books by this author.
by Ruth Ware scared me so much in the beginning that I almost put it down for good. Not wanting to wimp out, I pulled myself together and kept reading. It was worth it. She was a bit like a more modern Agatha Christie, and I had an idea who might be the murderer, but was Red Herringed until the end. I liked the main character, her boyfriend Judah, which is my son’s name, and the claustrophobic atmosphere of the small cruise ship where the murder took place. I will read more books by this author.
by Thich Naht Hanh was my first Bhuddist book and first book I’ve read by this author. Picked up at my favorite local used bookstore, Autumn Leaves, I liked the short chapters and his very practical and straightforward style. Really, I didn’t feel preached to or like he was trying to convert one to Bhuddism. Simply, he shared what helped him or possible scenarios of how one might incorporate breathing, being present, kindness, gratitude, etc., into one’s every day. I will read more by this author, and, in fact, I already have.
and/or Go Set a Watchman (don’t hate!) you will enjoy this story set in the blazing hot Depression-era South. The Romeyn family wrapped me around their collective pinkies and won me over.
. Poetry is important for people even in 2017. Here are some articles to sway you if you’re a doubter. David Whyte speaks to my soul. He makes me uncomfortable with his words. Tears start and smiles come unbidden as I read. Feelings I’ve never spoken aloud are articulated and I know I’m understood. Read poetry! Read his poetry and tell me you’re sorry. I dare you.
Life of Kim 