I’ve been feeling fragile for awhile now. A month or so. I keep so busy navigating the needs and worries of my high-sensitive kids that I sometimes forget to attend to my own sensitivities. They came by it honestly, after all. So things have been kind of rough, with lots of over-thinking and worrying and doubting. I keep trying to unearth my adventurous youthful self that moved halfway around the world without a second thought. But age seems to have made me aware of so much more and I find myself having third, fourth, and fifth thoughts on a regular basis.
I recently started a new series that reflects this fragile feeling. I dropped all stark winter designs and even the joyful light in the darkness Christmas themes that I normally love. Now, as the leaves fall and are blown into sodden piles; with winter only just approaching, I chose the quiet hope and fragile beauty that spring brings. The impossible reality of new life growing from seemingly dead wood. Vulnerable blossoms bursting open after a long spell of cold, dark sleep and showering us for a moment with extravagant, frilly, bright beauty before getting down to the serious work of producing fruit. Those pinks, and that yellow, they have been a delight to work with and, most importantly, they make me happy. And in that tiny seed of happiness perspectives and expectations shift, making room for even more happiness.
Sometime after Christmas, when the winter starts to wear us down and we wonder if it will ever end, these little beauties will come back from the printer and provide a glimpse of hope, a reassurance that Spring will come again. Until then I’m going to go ahead and keep them close, look at them often, and remember.