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Violet is Her Silhouette

How slow the Spring
And so am I.

Violets danced
my weekend air;

While forests bare,
I soaked.

Depression and anxiety go with this journey. Sneaky she creeps like mist and settles herself as crystalline fog. It is easy to get caught up within her.

Easy to be embarrassed.

What is she really? She is fear; hurt, anger, frustration. She is the other of presence. She is the un-real.

What do I do when she blankets my body and soul? Action. The answer for me is action. I could sit within her and become very comfortable in such isolations. Or, I don’t.

It is a decision; nothing more and nothing less.

It has been an unusual winter, and my road at my house in poor shape. Mud, ruts, do not play well with my wheels. And, battling the cold/infection, fatigue, among other things, I fell into her.

I made a decision. Seeing where I am, I made a different choice. Starts with getting up and getting out. air, land, sky, beauty; always heals the soul.

paint much love, always
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower

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