"All is ripely quiet."
--Joan Anderson, A Year by the Sea
In an early stint of spring cleaning a few weeks ago, I cleared off the bulletin board in my bedroom, full as it was with favorite quotes, stick picture drawings, postcards and other relics that remind me of the things and people I love. I sorted through what I wanted to keep--things that whisper to me from the other side, items that remind me of what's deep and true and sacred to me--and put the rest away for safe keeping.
After the chosen few went back on the board, I moved them around a bit, deliberately leaving an open space for the next wave of inspiration. It was an act of faith. I sometimes fear the river of creativity has dried up whenever I am in an emotional drought, and I needed a visual reminder that I would yet uncover other trinkets of beauty, moments of synchronicity, further nourishment.
I've been taking pictures of open spaces lately. Seeing the world this way takes my heart back to a place of magic. I try to capture of glimmer of something pretty as a I snap a shot, but what really moves me is what is just outside the borders, what can't be seen. I'm delighted by the notion that my walk through the park, a quick shot of my front yard, a lazy day at the beach, can hint at the possibility of an enchanted forest, a secret garden, a deserted island.
It's exactly how I feel about my life right now. I like what's in the picture, but I'm most invigorated by the possibility of what's not in the shot.