• I’ve been working on some illustrations for a couple of different projects and I am remembering that feeling of joy and focus that I love about drawing with ink.
• So many moments this past week I stopped and acknowledged how grateful I was for any number of things: friends, a new refrigerator, work that I love, words on a page, a cool breeze coming through on a hot day.
• While doing a bit of late spring cleaning, I spent some time pulling and cutting hair {eouw} out of the brushes on the vacuum cleaner – which incidentally made the vacuum work so very much better – but it got me thinking about how easily we shed hair and skin. Wouldn’t it be great if we could shed things like: the remembered pain from an experience, or the shame we still feel about that thing we did some time back, or the worry that we didn’t do the right thing in that situation, or the unhealthy patterns we can’t seem to shake.
• Very very occasionally {like 2 or 3 times a year – and one of those times was this week) I’ll find a little piece of poop on the kitchen floor, {from The Bear, aka our cat}. The other day I realised that sometimes when she does her mad rodeo dash from the cat box through the house, she shakes off a little piece of poop. Too gross? An overshare? I thought it was kind of fascinating, and very very funny.
• Letters, as well as letters paired to make words still have the power to occasionally make me feel light headed – they have to be the right letters and words of course, not just any old words laying around.
• I cleaned up the little piece of poop left on the kitchen floor, and washed the floor afterwards – just in case you were wondering.

The rain visited briefly last night. I held my breath for a few seconds when I heard it tip-tap its greeting on the glass of the atrium roof.

So long since I’ve heard that sound, it took me a bit to figure out what it might be. Tip tap plop, tap. Five minutes and then she was gone.

I spent a while wondering where my rain boots are, and then imagining how I will step into this new-est season.

Silence introduced in a society that worships noise is like the moon exposing the night.
Behind darkness is our fear. Within silence our voice dwells. What is required from both is that we be still. We focus. We listen. We see and we hear. The unexpected emerges.

–Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds

I fear silence because it leads me to myself, a self I may not wish to confront.
It asks that I listen. And in listening, I am taken to an unknown place.
Silence leaves me alone in a place of feeling.
It is not necessarily a place of comfort.

–Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds