I mean gosh. Just look at those baby birds. Look at them! I found this little nest in the blue spruce today (which was no small feat of nest finding, let me tell you, it was a prickly old mess inside that labyrinthe of branches) and nearly squealed for joy! I didn’t want to traumatize the poor fuzzy little things so I repressed my squawk of elation however, I believe my soul sounded like a tuba on the seashore:
Once my soul was finished playing the tuba on the seashore, I was struck by the miracle of the fact that little things this delicate, helpless and blind grow up to be birds that soar and sing wild songs. Then I remembered how all humans begin as tiny little fragile, helpless things. Even though we grow up into adulthood, there is still and always a little part of us that is breakable, naked and tender and that’s why we should all do our very best to love each other, even when we break each others hearts and murder tiny portions of each others souls…because once, we were all tiny little baby things that could do no wrong, and there’s still a remainder of that reality inside of us all.
I’m a real birdbrain lately. While being a birdbrain, I’ve been painting little self-portraits with my watercolor paints and finally all the sketchbook work I’ve been doing has made its way into metal:
[sterling, copper, graphite, enamel, mule deer antler tip & 23 karat gold]
This self-portrait really looks nothing like me, but it looks like how I feel. Which is why I love it.