Sometimes I think about the concert next year, and sometimes I think about the years of traveling and singing and I try to match the two dots. It’s like pulling a string, starting from one dot to another.
The string sometimes looks a bit wonky. Sometimes it doesn’t find the other dot. Sometimes it travels off the page. Sometimes it takes on a life of its own and two ends appear to find each other.
My hair these days feels a bit fried, the things that overwhelm me take a life of their own. But so so very often, joy happens. Looking at my children, reading a book, singing a melody, drawing wherever the pencil takes me or travelling and wandering in my mind, never really having to go anywhere.
Staying and waiting.
Waiting. Waiting.
Waiting for things to grow, waiting for things to heal, waiting for the world to catch a breath, waiting for capriciousness to abate, waiting to get ready.
On the surface the river looks calm and uneventful. We sink and let sink, falling, falling, sinking into the depths. Until you feel and find the full length of what is allowed and gifted to you. And then you rise up again to take that breath.
Happy 24th ❤️