I'm sick, it's sleeting outside, and this image from a few years ago in Massachusetts felt like one to work on today.
Great blue heron in the Chincoteague wildlife refuge. Mostly about texture and light, and a coiled intensity.
Because why not?
Pour one bottle of mid-priced vodka over a pound of dry, uncooked oatmeal. Add half a jar of honey. Let sit in the refrigerator for two weeks, stirring occasionally. Strain and rebottle.
The passage into mystery always refreshes. If, when we work, we can look once a day upon the face of mystery, then our labor satisfies. We are lightened when our gifts rise from pools we cannot fathom. Then we know they are not a solitary egotism and they are inexhaustible. Anything contained within a boundary must contain as well its own exhaustion. The most perfectly balanced gyroscope slowly winds down. But when the gift passes out of sight and then returns, we are enlivened.
— Lewis Hyde, The Gift
It’s appropriate to pause and say that the writer is one who, embarking upon a task, does not know what to do. …The not-knowing is crucial to art, is what permits art to be made. Without the possibility of having the mind move in unanticipated directions, there would be no invention.