The wind whips around my body as I bend down to the strawberry patch. Within only a moment, the garden darkens. I look up, amazed at the contrast of light blue to dark grey. It’s happening so quickly; the clouds roll over upon one another, swirling, dipping down, racing.
I love it.
The whole atmosphere feels excited, more alive, more ready for anything to happen. I brace myself for the lightning and thunder. I’m ready for enormous, relentless rain to absolutely drench me.
|Storm Dips Down|
That amplified feeling reminds me so much of our own artistic tendencies–our dark moods, our unpredictability, our imperceptible shifts that make the world go dark–that make up my whole self. It’s always this way. We writers spin beneath a cyclone of wonder, terror, expectancy, despair, and joy. Everything carries electric, amplified, stormy weight.
I’m not afraid of it anymore. I don’t resist it anymore.
I stand beneath it, snap a photograph, and I write.
I write! You write! We write!
The poet in me knows you can’t really and honestly know the light without the dark shadow of a storm. I brace myself and welcome that downpour.
It’s just how it is. I love it. I’m not afraid anymore.
Can you turn your dark moods into art?