rocking is good. so is sitting in the surf. try it.

My son never slows down. Here, he may be in a hammock, but he is not relaxing. He is pumping, swinging, rocking, swaying. Perpetual motion, even at rest.

My daughter likes nothing better than plopping down where she is and playing in the sand. Water be damned. Muck be damned. Sun, sand, water. Sit & enjoy. She plays it where it lays. And her favorite color is orange. She is an individual.

I could take some advice from these diminutive muses. Play it where it lays. Write the poem in the sand. Write it on the peanut butter and fluff sandwich. Utter and fluff it. Get wet. Get sand in my pants. Take off my pants and write a poem on my thighs. OK. My kids definitely didn't give me that idea. Although, one did write all over the other's stomach in purple marker one day. Hey. Why not write a poem on my arm and let it all hang out.

Still feeling anxious about not writing. I'm not blocked. I have ideas. They flow in and out, flow in like the tide, and I summarily dismiss them like so much flotsam. Out seaweed. Out cracked shell.

A poet friend of mine said it is the change of seasons. I remember that this happens every few months, every turn of the seasons. I forget until I remember. This time around, my head feelsl like it might explode. I have not only got poetry running rampant in my head, with no outlet, now I've got art projects screaming and shrieking.

I have discovered art trading cards, and while I love, absolutley love the idea, the freedom of expression, I am having so many strange feelings. Art card lust. I look at the fine, fine work of others and I want it to be mine. I used to have this feeling about poetry, until I became confident with my work. I think constantly about potential art card ideas. When I finally made one, I felt release. Sweet release. But, now it is not enough. I need to make more. But, mine may not be good enough. They need to be better.

Augh. I need to read the Artist's Way again. Maybe? Maybe I just need to see the first leaves fall, feel the air change from humid to crisp. I need to eat an apple. Need to indulge my Eve. Eat an apple, see myself naked, revealed. Revel in my wet, orange uniqueness. Hmmm....