Today, the horses have nothing to say. It didn’t start that way, but as the day progressed their lack of eye contact while I leaned on the fence watching them, told me different. A blatant reminder my mind needed to settle.
I wander, drawn to a spot where the sound of a frog chorus penetrates through the trees. The sun on my face, the breeze ruffling my hair, all speaking to me in volumes.
Planting myself away from the voices, the grounding of my soul begins. Eyes closed, breathing softly, embracing the aroma of raw earth, the connection I need starts to ooze into my being.
By ignoring me, the horses suggested my direction; but, it is Mother Nature who gives me guidance. The singing of the frogs in the background while I watch my first butterfly of the season looking for sustenance from flowers yet to bloom. Tiny birds chirping their throaty sounds, flitting from branch to branch before taking wing to return to I know not where. Walking through the trees the pungent smell of rain dampened leaves meets my senses; laying lifeless to the eye, yet giving nourishment to the land.
I stroll back to the barn. The smells confined within the walls are comforting. A reminder of the journey I began decades ago when I knew someday, somehow, I would blaze my own trail.
The creativity will come, it always does. The process of late, has been mired by my mind whirling like a dust devil’s journey across the prairie.
The horses and the land have gifted me much on this day.
How do you reconnect with your creativity?
I wander, drawn to a spot where the sound of a frog chorus penetrates through the trees. The sun on my face, the breeze ruffling my hair, all speaking to me in volumes.
Planting myself away from the voices, the grounding of my soul begins. Eyes closed, breathing softly, embracing the aroma of raw earth, the connection I need starts to ooze into my being.
By ignoring me, the horses suggested my direction; but, it is Mother Nature who gives me guidance. The singing of the frogs in the background while I watch my first butterfly of the season looking for sustenance from flowers yet to bloom. Tiny birds chirping their throaty sounds, flitting from branch to branch before taking wing to return to I know not where. Walking through the trees the pungent smell of rain dampened leaves meets my senses; laying lifeless to the eye, yet giving nourishment to the land.
I stroll back to the barn. The smells confined within the walls are comforting. A reminder of the journey I began decades ago when I knew someday, somehow, I would blaze my own trail.
The creativity will come, it always does. The process of late, has been mired by my mind whirling like a dust devil’s journey across the prairie.
The horses and the land have gifted me much on this day.
How do you reconnect with your creativity?
Ann Edall-Robson
Author, Photographer, Lover of Life
"Capturing moments others may never get to experience."
Author, Photographer, Lover of Life
"Capturing moments others may never get to experience."
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