To sit and let my thoughts work themselves out on the page - sorting the confusion of too many commitments into a manageable mess, like combing out the knots in my hair.
It's hard to get time alone to do this sort of practice when we're away on tour - I pack my journal in the vague hope that if I spot it, the time will magically appear. But it rarely does. And I don't seem to need it as much at those times anyway.
But it's like having a massage for my brain, when I get back home, to sit down, and be quiet.
So this afternoon I got an hour writing outside in the garden - the birds are going full throttle - no sore throats or stage fright there .... There's one particularly noisy guy who sounds like he's shouting, ME! ME! ME! COME ON! COME ON! COME ON! I'M OVER HERE! And the rest are just chattering away unperturbed by his warblings. I wish I could learn to tune out the chatter of other voices quite so easily.
|and not forgetting fuchsia, she has to get in for a wee dance.|
This garden gets precious little attention, but it does it's own thing and the reward is to be allowed to sit in it for a quiet hour on a sunny afternoon. I feel like I'm home now.
How's your week going? I'll be back tomorrow to get caught up on reading everyone else's blogs and do a bit of commenting.