Winter

It has been a long, cold, damp winter. Each morning, the east facing window of our bedroom looks out over barren trees, smothered in low gray clouds. It is hard to breathe in a place like this. It is hard to remember who I am. The soul aches. On one such morning, for no particular reason, other than to create space within, I began to draw again. At first the images were tangible, what could be seen but quickly moved toward an attempt to draw from within. Not what I see, but what I feel, in hopes of rediscovering a path now lost.