The sunflowers are gracefully bowing out. They’re exhausted, but giving all with their farewell performance. They have been summer-strong and generous — such tremendous givers. Next they’ll transition into drying season, and shed seeds until their heads are bald. Their fading beauty is incredibly selfless, as they give the last of themselves for us to consume.
Yet, I’m over here restless. I want to build and construct, or paint. I have a darting mind and my hands want to follow suit. I’m searching for healthy escape: a productive exit. If I can trick my fingers into believing they are running like legs, then I might just stay put long enough to work through something. It’s difficult to remain immobile when you’re idling high inside.
I find a pencil and sketch. Quickly, before any of my other extremities catch wind of my nervous system’s fight or flight plans. And I exhale slowly as I settle into this safe creative space. I take a moment to be thankful: for tools and better pathways. I bite my lip as I draw, like I always do when my brain is creating. It’s working.
Eventually, I make a circle through the dining room and admire the bouquets. I won’t let every sunflower wither on its stalk outside. How I long to get the beauty inside. In my home. In my life. In me. I can hardly rest until I see it or sense it. I tell myself that I am more than the sum of my parts. More than what I do.
And don’t run.
And just be…