When we keep our sights trained on the small and doable, we are able to do the large and unthinkable.
Wildflowers do this. Safe in their little seeds they weather winter, too much or too little rain, freezing cold, hungry mice nibbling their hulls, Labradors charging through them, geese eating them, little chubby hands picking them. They persevere; sometimes called weeds, obnoxious; sometimes they are even weed-whacked into billions of little shredded pieces.
These days appear to be strung together with the wrong beads of late. It seems to be impossible for me to get my optimism up and running. I am of a mind to quit trying. I mean, why bother.
Certainly a poppy never feels this way, especially with a purple friend nuzzled in beside her. The purple friend I don't imagine complaining, or even stumbling over words or word-usage, or stupid terms or out-dated labels. Oh wow. Imagine being so orange, with such an ornate belly-button!
I took my camera for a morning walk around a pond where Canada Goose hatchlings had been spotted earlier. Yes, I fantasized being able to sneak through the grasses and get the most amazing, fantastic shot of the fuzzies. Unfortunately, I met a young couple out walking their 13 week old Labrador, Izzy. Oh Goddess, she was so shiny black and cute and friendly. With permission given, I was able to pet her wiggling self, and we all talked for a little too long. I walked on, to where I (and they) had seen the geese to find them gone. I could hear them. They were not in the grass, they swam to the island and settled into the tall grass there, out of range of my lens. I did enjoy them, from a distance, but only saw the heads of the goslings, which of course, was a gift.
If I were a painter (heheheee!) I'd choose yellow over all other colors. I want to qualify that statement, now that it's out: Truth be known, I love every color. It's just that when one is in front of me, that's my favorite one. This can be said for cookies, other treats, and various books, several people, and a couple of dogs.
Normally, I don't like the wind. The yellow flower, no it is not mustard, is about 10-12 feet tall. It waves in the wind. This plant makes the most amazing dried arrangement later in the summer, if you have a large space to fill with a very airy effect.
What I love about yellow, is that it lifts my spirit. On some level I absorb the warmth, the lightheartedness, the knowing that all is not as it seems. As long as there is yellow, there is spring, goslings, chicks, daffodils, the sun. There is enough. In fact, there is plenty, because yellow reminds me that it all comes from the Source of all that is.
Julia Cameron goes on to say, "The odds stacked against us as an artist immediately lessen if we are in fact doing our work." She is referring to earlier in the chapter, when she instructs us to "...for one week spend twenty minutes daily on your art." A novel, she says, is much easier, in fact, "the odds of publishing a novel are a hell of a lot higher if you have written a novel." What we do, a little bit at a time (say, 20 minute increments), is focus on our work. It becomes "...a logical progression and not a wild fantasy."
So. That's that. I am actually working on a yellow painting, so it is not a surprise to have yellow show up like this. Most likely I am doing my inner-works as well, so it is not a surprise to feel this way. I do appreciate Mother Nature putting all of this in front of me, with the freedom to choose my color.
Have an awesome day.