I am quiet this morning and waiting. The day, crisp and blue, beckons yet I do not dress, call the dogs, and venture forth.  The novel is with an editor and until she gets back to me, there is little to do.  Unlike many, I have never been able to take on more than one project at a time.

In the studio, work awaits — another commission and a replacement piece for a sculpture recently sold — but I am in no hurry to finish them. In spite of my deadlines, waiting is exactly what I need. Every field must go fallow for a time.

Over the years, I’ve learned to enjoy the quiet moments and savor the richness of days without intent. Noticing more, slightly stirred by currents above and below the surface, I am heightened without the frenetic energy that generally accompanies my creative outpourings.

These are the times I…