The dollhouse is done and so I macrame, on to the next unfinished project, so many things left undone.
I am busying myself to ward off depression during the cold season, this seemingly endless winter that has settled into the bones of northeast Ohio. That groundhog lied when she predicted an early Spring. Even the calendar jests with the passing of the date. The sun shines on snow dusted lawns and I catch my frozen breath, the frosted smoke of hope waiting yet resting in the seeds planted indoors.
Surely the robins will come, how I long for their strut and the true sign of warmth return whence once again, my eyes spot a glimpse of a red winged blackbird. Butterflies, where are you my flightly friends? Alone in a gray town, endlessly awaiting your return.
Paper waits, already cut to frame size. When the warm breezes chases the endless chill away, I can take my paints and pencils back outside and make art on the porch again. When I feel warm and alive again, that is when I will make the art for the dollhouse.
Journey, the round painting that hangs on my wall, reminds me to stay the course, to continue living a creative life. It is not the best painting, but it is mine. It is a colorful, roughly textured ship’s wake on the darkest night, with a paint brush as an illusionary distant shore. Suppose not everyone gets it as the only time it was ever shown, they hung it wrong with the paint brush vertical instead of horizonal so I had to wiggle my way through the crowds and rotate it at the opening. More amusing than irritating as it made me smile.
This long winter is a journey and I must have faith in the journey’s end. Hope is a journey on an endless sea.