I'm always on the precipice of something. Always looking down as my feet teeter totter over the edge, wondering when it's the right time to jump. This whole summer has been a strong hand pushing me toward something but what, I do not know. The weather has been unseasonably cool, the rain a constant companion to the season. The clouds are Kamikaze fighters, battling for space in a claustrophobic sky. My mind has been focused. It has been here, it has been now. There is not time for creativity, there is no moment to dabble in arts. My mind has run a marathon and only when it crosses the finish line will it say, "enough."
I sense the marathon coming to an end. The summer is ending and so begins the best time of year. The air is beginning to stir and whisper through the leaves. Their repose is coming soon, their lullaby is in the making. It's time, my darlings' to become something other than the domesticated diva. The artist is beckoning like a siren and who am I to deny her?
So, I jump.