I am looking at this beautiful natural balancing act that played out in front of me one day in late June. I am grateful I can look at it again and then again this crispy cold October day. I can’t say why this very moment, caught in time, now timeless, touches me so deeply. Only that it does. Something within wishes to honour it by putting words to everything that this picture stirs within the deep waters of being. The closest I get with words is that it radiates gentleness and fragile innocence. But any other words fail to surface. And once again I realise, the deepest, most meaningful and sometimes simplest moments of presence in life often only translate into the language of profound pulsating stillness.
At least that’s the case with me.
Earlier today I heard thunder, just one longing rumble of the skies. This moment when I look out, I see the changing light from the sun showing itself through fast moving clouds. I know the wind is chilly because I have already been outside saying good morning to my friend the winged one, all grown up, displaying its red chest. Today I felt the weight of its little winged body longer on my hand than usual.
On my bed lies the hunter cat, content and stretched out in full length soaking up the rays of sun that now and again shines through the window and reaches her fluffy winter coat. I’ll leave her to it, press ‘Publish’ and step outside and leave all the words and lack of same to their own destiny.
~
Hanne T. Fisker Photography Art 
Beautiful writing, Hanne. Thank you for sharing these moments…
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Dear Rachel, thank you for your gentle comment. It’s been days and years since I’ve been able to write. Even properly working at photographs too. I’m enjoying every moment of journeying along with this newfound voice and creativity as if every word and photograph could be the last. Thank you again.
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Your missive made me think about my own creative processes which of late have involved a fight with inertia. As I allow the creative spirit to reemerge without the (for me at least) force of will, of intellect, work forms gently and slowly, and with a light touch that has been absent.
I look forward to experiencing more of your work. And thank you. 🙂
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Rachel, I so understand what you’re saying. Despite having a feeling that creativity, in my case at least, works like the tides; ebb and flow, and forcing it never works, it can be hard to accept the ebb of creativity. In particular if it takes a long time! But I do think it can be trusted, it simply is seeds in the ground, waiting to ripen. In their own time. No will of mind can make that happen, at least in my case. When your creative spirit decides to emerge again, I know it will be beautiful and it might arise with a new voice too. Thank you for sharing.
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Seeds in the ground. Yes…
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