Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion – put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
For some time now I have struggled with finding intersections in all the pockets of my life as a mother, wife, painter, advocate, blogger, writer’s residency host, and fanatic gardener, to name a few. We live in a world that likes stamped achievement, not process, and it is easy to step into a loop where I am defined by a particular identity. It’s tidier by the standards of society to be a sum, not an array of parts. Boundaries and categories have their place, but I now understand that I am trying to force a relationship between all the seemingly disparate parts of my life that is already there. Gardening, walking the hills of my Colorado, peering at wildflowers or celebrating artistic community is all part of my creative practice, one that automatically flows into another. I don’t need to be so rigid about distinctions. Digging in the soil feeds my writing life while maintaining a steady supply of wonder. Identifying wildflowers finds its way into a brush stroke, and makes me more patient as a mother and wife. Welcoming an artist to our small farm feeds my creativity and my family’s. These are all tributaries, some visible, some less so, but all part of the whole.