I wrote this poem early yesterday morning inspired by the sacred space of first light—the time of day when light first appears, but before the sun rises. When you’re all alone in the morning, you’re able to consciously embrace the calm and the quiet all around you. This silence allows you to focus on self-reflection and opens you up for inspiration.
The natural world has so many advantages from inspiration to health benefits. The best gift I’ve received from exploring the majesty of this impressive world we live in and its royal beauty is how it opened up my heart to writing poetry, and to my inner artist.
I write in bits and short bursts—sort of what it feels like to wiggle in and out of boulders as you climb up a mountain. The greatness of the colors, the mountain air, the peace, the blues and earthy hues enhance my thoughts and turn off the distractions; then it all comes spilling out like one of those narrow creeks down the side of the mountain after a big rain.
Artistic scientist, scientific artist, or both? How an artist or a photographer sees a flower, and how a scientist sees a flower, do not have to be separate. There’s no right or wrong. Everyone feels art and sees science in different ways. The science of art—or, if you prefer, the art of science—are both a means of investigation, observation and exploration. The two naturally overlap and cannot exist without each other.
It’s subjective, not objective. It’s not only one perspective, but many forms from unique visions and minds of people that surround us.
I just returned from a weeklong trip through the country of Cuba. Living off the grid has taken on an entirely new meaning to me.
Take a moment and think—
What does it mean
To have fresh water to drink?
To splash on your face, brush your teeth
And hydrate your body with its exquisite embrace?
A daily ritual some might accidentally
Take for granted
To have water at your fingertips
And to your lips
To restore your body in big thankful sips!