A Monday has dawned half-sunny in mid February– President’s Day Weekend. Tumultuous and mild, abstractions arising out of the long winter– cabin fever reaches its peak, and winter makes madmen of us all.
I’ve been feeling a little at loose ends and wondering again what I’m going to be when I grow up. Springtime has sent its tendrils too soon, reaching backwards from the future to incite an irrational impatience and it’s what always makes March the stormy month. There’s a feeling that the slow, gentle indoor-time of January may have been largely wasted, and the impatience is increased by a feeling of needing to prepare; needing to make up lost time. Age of ever-increasing speed, we work at fighting ancient rhythms– a denial that causes confusion and unrest.
Time to make some art–
a human’s way to make sense of nonsense!