Memories of Spring

Since finishing my last painting, which I thought was returning me to a more sustained state of creative flow, I have not been able to do much. Another painting was begun, but then abandoned. Another idea was scribbled into my sketchbook, but has not progressed. Susan Griffin’s quote about the illusion of wellness has never seemed more apt.

The imagery and words that had started to spill out have now retreated within, tangling inside me, with no outlet, no freedom. Such are the seasons of illness, I suppose. I must simply endure, and wait.

Still, I can at least share with you some memories of spring …

A silver-eyed Australian raven.

Reading my story published in the second volume of Heroines, from the Neo Perennial Press.

Showy blossoms and new green.

The beautiful fabrics I bought for (yet to begin) sewing projects.

Mist on the mountains, and the pitter-patter of rain—particularly sweet memories in these dry and dangerous days of fire around the state.

Two red wattlebird chicks, waiting patiently for their next feed.

This handsome little man, strutting his stuff—a superb fairy-wren.

A fast growing wattlebird chick feeding herself from one of the thirteen waratah blooms we had on the bush in our front yard.

Expansive skies.

And sweet little gifts.

It looks like a long, hot and very dry summer is ahead of us. Rain would be most welcome, but in its absence I will keep seeking what small, succulent gifts I can find.