ink and dirt

It seems that one of the most restorative acts I can do is to be outside on a sunny day, working the earth, tending to plants and flowers and trees, listening to the birds, watching bees. It's the reason I've not been writing quite as much lately; my need to be outdoors is looming large after such a long drawn-out Maine winter into spring.

And so, to shake the ceaseless angst I feel over my child, to take the edge off of my constant lack of sleep, I've turned my mind and body from desk to earth, from screen to sky, from ink to dirt. Instead of sculpting words, I prune with shears and paint with shrubs and mulch.

I'll return to the page, for sure, in a day or so, for writing nourishes my spirit in ways the earth can't do, perhaps akin to what might be the yin and yang of ink and dirt.