End of a summer lost

Cottonwood reflection in Fremont River

Since late summer, I have been fighting through some medical adventures with a cornucopia of medications that failed to work as desired. Instead they knocked me on my ass pretty regularly. I holed up here at the ranch, trying to keep it together, not partaking in the visual riches all around me. It was an insidious malaise that crept up on me, and I didn’t realize until afterwards how much of the summer I lost.

In so many ways since we moved, I have been lucky in my friendship with Guy Tal and his wife Sarah. And if it weren’t for Guy, I wouldn’t have shot much at all these past few months. He texted me this week, like he has before. Did I want to go see the last of the leaves in the park?

“Say yes,” whispered my creative spirit voice, even though I am so behind on chores, on the taxes, on a million things. When my creative voice is getting nurtured, it sings. If I allow illness, fear, deadlines, whatever, push creativity to the bottom of my priorities, the voice loses its volume, its confidence. And then it’s a downward spiral toward despair, and ultimately, a chilling silence.

So I went, made Guy stop for a soda refill at the convenience store, stood in the sunshine, and saw some stuff I might not otherwise have seen. Reload, restart. Like my legs, my seeing is stiff from too much downtime. I was grateful to stretch out, practice a few visual scales. I saw this photo while Guy was scampering around down a steep slope toward his own photo. I was happily surprised how well it worked. Soon I’ll be scampering too.

One thing I don’t do much is sing. I never learned how, and maybe I should someday. Anyway, two days after I stopped taking those particular poisons meds, I had to make a three hour drive to the ranch by myself. There’s a good long stretch without any radio reception, so I plugged in my IPhone and cranked up the music. To my surprise, I discovered I was singing along: not well, certainly, but joyfully. And really loud. It turns out that my creative voice, the one I believe we all share, is more resilient to neglect and abuse than I imagined.

That’s how the healing begins, with music in the house, a camera to see with, loads of vegetables on the dinner table, a new doctor and good friends. Especially the good friends.

One Comment

  1. Great post, Ann. I am glad you were able to get out, and hope you continue to be on the mend. I know what you mean about needing to stretch my eyes, as well as my legs…

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