C'est la Vie

I am feeling contemplative today. The weather may be affecting my mood. Rain is falling from the skies at a steady rate, and the drops are beginning to collect in puddles. Each new splash creates a ripple, only to be absorbed into an ever increasing pool of water. Drip, drop, ka-plink, ka-plunk. The heavens are crying, and the tears are watering the earth.

I used to hate rainy days. They depressed me, and the absence of the sun saddened my spirits. Today, however, I am pondering rather than despairing. The rain will subside, and the sun will shine again, ever the brighter, and I will drink in it's warmth with pleasure. In the meantime, I will stay dry and observe the shower pour down. It is a cycle of life.

Without days like today, I could not enjoy the beauty of Spring. I am coming to appreciate these wet and dreary days as opportunities to slow down. When I come home tonight, I will fix myself a steaming cup of chai tea, relax in comfy pajamas, and watch March Madness transpire.

Yesterday was absolutely gorgeous. I couldn't resist the urge to take a rambling walk along the downtown canal, and so I deposited my bookbag in my car and headed off on a carefree stroll by the waters. And I soaked in the pleasure of having no cares to tie me down. And it was lovely.

So let the rain fall. Replenish the ground with life, because I can't wait to see the greenness. I will relish in the golden days all the more. For how could I appreciate the sunny days if I didn't endure the dreary, cold, and wet ones? C'est la vie, no? And life, from my perspective, is beautiful. Louange à Dieu!

image source

Blyss Art Direction

NM N-190 Art Direction for midterm.

Inspired

Today, in spite of the rain, I am rejoicing because of the sunshine. I am thrilled that the weather is warm, and that the remains of winter are melting away. I can't help but smile as I see bright green shoots sprouting up in the moist earth, knowing that an array of brilliant colors are soon going to make their appearance in the form of flower blossoms. And I cannot keep from singing the songs inside my head as they play there continuously throughout my day. I know that I am crazy foolish, driving with my windows rolled down and Smoke & Mirrors blaring at full volume, but I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am in love with life.

One of my dear friends wrote that she is searching for Inspiration. She even offered a reward to anyone who could locate it. I too, seek this elusive Inspiration. But I have come to the realization that it is Inspiration that finds me, and I usually happen upon it as if by chance. As much as I may want to, I cannot conjure it up. It is not at my beck and call.

Most of us recognize Inspiration when we see it. I saw inspiration in the film Bright Star. It went largely unnoticed last year, but that does not diminish the beauty of its content. I believe that it enhanced my delight as I watched it, for I felt as though I were viewing a truly worthwhile film that no one had bothered to care about. Bright Star was based on the life John Keats, who was considered to be one of the greatest Romantic poets of his day. In honor of him, and of the Inspiration that he had as a writer, I am sharing a poem that reflects the beauty that I see all around me, but that I could not describe half so well.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. ~ Endymion, by John Keats

I only meant to put a few lines, but as I kept reading on, I didn't know where to cut off, so I decided to share most all of it here.

Holding Onto Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune - without the words,
And never stops at all...

~ Emily Dickinson

Beautifully penned. Emily Dickinson was a very gifted poet, and she looked at the world with different eyes. This fragment of her poem, Hope, fell upon my ears for the first time this week, and I feel connected to it, somehow. Just words on a page, but they convey meaning. Together, they describe hope. And so this week, I am holding onto hope. My soul is singing, and I pray that the song never stops.