When life gets in the way (and head) of an artist, that finely tuned thing we refer to as creativity, muse, or inspiration will often grind to a screeching halt.  “Things” had gotten into the way of my “flow” as I like to call it. Family responsibilities, employment woes, you name it, I allowed it all to overwhelm me and each time I sat down to work all I could see were my problems.

Fortunate to have a place to retreat to away from everything, I packed up some clothes, clay, sundry crafty bits, and high tailed it to the mountains of Maine

For two days I sat on the screened porch that overlook the mountains and listened to nothing more than the whisper of wind through the trees and birds who were ever busy at the feeders in the yard. I was an observer to the busy forest life that went on around me as if I were invisible. There are so few places nowadays where you can witness the rhythm of nature uninterrupted like this, and here it’s a magical thing.

Birds tending to their young, deer coming to the lake to drink, the whimsical otter that busily swims back and forth searching for a tasty mussel, the whippoorwill who sings as the last light of day disappears.

Mountain storms blow throw with a fierceness that is scary at times, and the wind howls like a freight train through the forest, and yet if I were not here it would still go on. I am just honored to share the experience, an observer.

I thought about the birds particularly after a fierce mountain storm the other night. All during the day they were at the feeders with their young, back and forth and as the storm approached they slowly disappeared to take shelter. The forest became quiet and as the wind came through, and then the rain, I wondered how they fared. When the storm had passed and the rain subsided slowly, you could hear the symphony start up again and within minutes they were back at the feeders as if it had never rained at all. And I realized that to the birds the storm was an inconvenience, nothing more, and they stayed right on track with what they had been doing before.

So I sat down to my table I have set up here and began to create once again. My muse was back. This time taking it in stride that I’ll run into a metaphoric mountain storm now and then, but maybe this time I’ll view it as an inconvenience and continue down the path I’m traveling in Nature’s stride.

Thanks for visiting!

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This has always been a favorite poem of mine, where Robert Frost speaks to the value of independence and personal freedom. I have always wished for a simpler time in which to live, and, as I grow older find myself creating just that.
This picture is in Brownfield, Maine where I go each year to relax, watch birds and sculpt.

]]> http://elysianfieldoriginals.com/2009/11/01/the-road-not-takenrobert-frost/feed/ 1 http://elysianfieldoriginals.com/2009/02/24/you-wanna-piece-of-me/ http://elysianfieldoriginals.com/2009/02/24/you-wanna-piece-of-me/#comments Wed, 25 Feb 2009 03:00:00 +0000 Valerie Ashley http://elysianfieldoriginals.com/?p=343