I wrote quite a brilliant piece in my head as I was walking this morning.
But you know what happened, don't you? The ideas floated in my head for nary a moment or two, before they disappeared altogether.
I became distracted by the workers who had driven their truck onto the walking path as they trimmed the trees. How many more would they cut today?
I walked a little further up the hill to see if I could identify what was being built on the corner. Such an interesting shape, large, one floor with small windows on one side. Two floors, larger windows on the other side. What will it become?
The brilliant, magical words departed.
The muse vanished.
The thoughts that were meant for me, swirled around like hard to catch autumn leaves, then landed on someone else's doorstep. I'm sure.
The magic that comes to us needs to be captured and clung to, wrung out. It needs to be spoken into our phones, imprinted on our cameras, painted on our canvas, knit into our clothing.
The dreams that arrive, in pale blues and ivory, in stark blacks and reds are ours alone. Why do we ignore them thinking that perhaps they will sit and wait for us to pay attention?
Why do we hide from what brings joy to our life, postpone until our easy and mundane tasks are completed? (Tweet This)
Why do we look with envy (and sometimes scorn) at those who wear ripped jeans with their pearls?
Think that we are too old, fat, curvy, or responsible to just be silly?
Why don't we go to the park and sit on the grass before it is covered in snow?
See the pandas before they leave our city to go back home?
Or rest, be quiet and accept what is searching for us?
Why must we be so sensible?
The ideas that we notice mean something for us. They spark a thought, a dream, a plan. In such a busy world, why did this idea call our attention? (Tweet This)
What is it that we are meant to take as we pass by? (Tweet This)
We'd be foolish to dismiss what we notice too easily.
Now tell me. How do you find the magic?
If you would like to hold on to your magic, you would enjoy Austin Kleon's book, Steal Like an Artist. It's a winner!
But you know what happened, don't you? The ideas floated in my head for nary a moment or two, before they disappeared altogether.
I became distracted by the workers who had driven their truck onto the walking path as they trimmed the trees. How many more would they cut today?
I walked a little further up the hill to see if I could identify what was being built on the corner. Such an interesting shape, large, one floor with small windows on one side. Two floors, larger windows on the other side. What will it become?
The brilliant, magical words departed.
Accepting the Magic; Courtesy Pixabay - itspinballtime
The muse vanished.
The thoughts that were meant for me, swirled around like hard to catch autumn leaves, then landed on someone else's doorstep. I'm sure.
The magic that comes to us needs to be captured and clung to, wrung out. It needs to be spoken into our phones, imprinted on our cameras, painted on our canvas, knit into our clothing.
The dreams that arrive, in pale blues and ivory, in stark blacks and reds are ours alone. Why do we ignore them thinking that perhaps they will sit and wait for us to pay attention?
Why do we hide from what brings joy to our life, postpone until our easy and mundane tasks are completed? (Tweet This)
Why do we look with envy (and sometimes scorn) at those who wear ripped jeans with their pearls?
Think that we are too old, fat, curvy, or responsible to just be silly?
Why don't we go to the park and sit on the grass before it is covered in snow?
See the pandas before they leave our city to go back home?
Or rest, be quiet and accept what is searching for us?
Why must we be so sensible?
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| Accepting the Magic |
What is it that we are meant to take as we pass by? (Tweet This)
We'd be foolish to dismiss what we notice too easily.
Now tell me. How do you find the magic?
If you would like to hold on to your magic, you would enjoy Austin Kleon's book, Steal Like an Artist. It's a winner!
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