I seem to be unsure where this week really went, trading hours with phone calls and meetings, and sleep with coffee. Minutes mysteriously and mindlessly wondered to familiar paddocks for empathy, returning sown ground and found gems. Yet as the time ticked by an old fob watch in my mind, the hunger still waits to be unleashed.
Starting in another lonely hotel room, I was greeted by a storm that canceled previous plans. As the rain fell, wind welcomed trees to the ground. Fortunately, this provided opportunity for a book’s pages to turn and notes to be sketched on the inner pages. Warmed by the words, it made me ponder the next steps.
It was then back on the road, travelling home to move the horse and pick up some yard panels. A storm followed the country roads as I drove, with hail falling instantly after the panels stacked. The clouds then opened for a tad longer, as we drove home over the mountains again.
Finally, a reprieve stopped time as the river opened up to rocks skimming along in time. It makes me wonder about our People, those who would have rested here to enjoy time together, dancing by the fire light and swimming on the hot days. Fingerprints pressed firmly into the ancient ground, as the waters wash the worries away.
Then meetings filled calendar time, I didn’t realise existed, words danced on paper to a new diagram hum. When moments weren’t spent listening or talking, fingers typed to a new beat, only to be interrupted for caffeine, sleep or to drive. Time was spent jotting a new verse, thinking about the lyrics and humming a familiar tune, in destinations unfamiliar.
Last week, I was lost. I’m still not particularly sure what I’m doing. But I have learnt to trust my gut, the process and understand my boundaries. I know what I love doing, what fascinates me and how I want things to be. I have an endless hunger.