Waking Up, Again

I knew I needed to get to my studio today. I could feel myself getting irritable and low which is what happens when I don’t get to do my work.

I spent most of last week processing my wool sales and intentionally worked on Sunday to get the orders for my Twin Healing Tree magnets filled so I could get to my studio this morning.

But I still had a bunch of paperwork to do for my bookkeeper so she could file my sales tax. And it took longer than I thought to do it.  By the time I was done, my head was stuck in numbers and systems, not a good space for me to create from.

I was spent, and when Jon offered to take me out to Jean’s Place for lunch, I greedily accepted.

The waffle with strawberries and whipped cream perked me up, but now my brain felt clouded and dull. So, I headed out into the woods.

The snow and ice were melting in the spring-like temperatures.  The air was thick with heavy, damp, breezes that smelled as warm as they felt.  Fate and I made our way through the woods to the path that would take us to the dirt road where we would meet Jon and Zinnia who were walking there.

But before we got to the road, to the right of the path, and down a hill, I saw the sun reaching through the trees and glowing softly on the ice in the swamp.  The surrounding trees reflected as far down into the ice as they towered to the sky.

I wanted to try to get a photo of the moment I was witnessing.

I could see the patches of ice beneath the leaves, so I tried to be careful.  When I fell it wasn’t unexpected.  I landed on my hip and elbow, the thud inside my head and rattle of my teeth, was uncomfortable, but not unfamiliar.

I got up, took my pictures, then made it up the hill without slipping.

Back on the path, I felt more alive than I had in days.  As if the fall woke me up from my stupor. I needed something to rattle my brain, to knock me out of myself.

All my shipping and paperwork, done for the day, I sat down at my computer to write this.

There’s more than one way for me to be creative. Taking pictures and videos, and writing are fulfilling to me.  But it’s different than the physical touch of fabric in my hands, of cutting fabric and running it through the sewing machine to create something tangible.

A computer screen and keyboard does not replicate the constant movement and physicality of sewing that is so satisfying to me.  Creating something that is an expression of myself, that I can touch, that I can hold in my hands feels like it’s necessary for my well being.

It brings me out of my head and into the world.  It wakes me up, without having to fall on the ice.

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