The artists will leave today and I will begin a period of time on my own. The transition will take a few hours, but I will find it. And then I will be alone with sun and wind, birds and deer, books and papers, pens and brushes.
Under a fully blue sky, I am without guests for the first time in a while. It has become still, and yet, even as I write this, a car drives past the schoolhouse. But alone is not necessarily about isolation and stillness is not necessarily about lack of movement. This aloneness, this stillness, this quiet finds me generating my own thoughts and making my own decisions. It is not profound. It is just a time that allows for punctuation; comas, dashes, colons, semi-colons, and ellipses all making way for another thought.