Yesterday I ran my mind ragged trying to fix an image in my mind, words in my head. Today I took both problems for a walk, intending to catch a vision in the mind’s eye then return to the studio to work.
The sun was shining. At Whitesands a crowd of jackdaws played with the wind.
Rosie tried not to get her pretty feet wet.
I am told that the line of black around the base of the rocks is a special slow growing lichen that thrives on salt water.
We walked. Beneath our feet snakes still curled sleeping in hibernating burrows, twisting and turning in dreams of summer. Here, a stone circle, level plateau. If these stones could speak they would tell stories of the Old Ones, long gone.
In the valley clear water danced and sang in sunshine. Head emptied out, ideas came in, mind settled with each foot fall. We saw ravens dance with the wind, a kestrel, rise after resting on a lichen softened rock.
By the time we came back to Whitesands the tide had rolled back. The beach is scarred with stones.
Mind settled, logs in, fire burning, but body so tired, and a little bit aching, from walking and thinking.