We find ourselves in unprecedented times with daunting challenges. I hear so many creatives complain of a dullness, of doubt, of waning motivation under the weight of all the trouble in the world.

This morning, after an unproductive hour at my desk, I made the mistake of reading the news. Then my phone rang and my dear friend shared heartbreaking news. After, I sat, fingers on the keyboard. Nothing came.
So I did what I learned to do after Donald Trump was elected and the pandemic spiraled: I slipped into hiking boots, grabbed my binoculars, and headed out to recalibrate. I walked. Breathed. Collected beauty.

A glittering of Anna’s hummingbirds shared my prayers for my friend. 

Golden leaves evicted Russian tanks, a red-tailed hawk raised my wishes of safety for too many children living in warring states.

 Two Northern Flickers dispelled MAGA hats and eased my anxiety about the future. 

Hermit Thrushes and Yellow-Rumped Warblers (butter butts) reminded me to laugh. I drank deeply of the crisp fall air and let the noise of the world, the worries about things I cannot control, drain from my thoughts for a while, from my ears to make room for the creak and whisper of redwoods, bird song, and the crunch of my boots on the leaf littered trail. Let beauty fill me up instead.

Back home again, a cup of coffee in hand, I got my butt back in the chair, and began once more.

When the world is just too much, go out and spend time with your mother. Drink her in. Reboot your wonder gene. Ease back into writing through your senses.

To begin to understand the gorgeous fever that is consciousness, we must try to understand the senses and what they can tell us about the ravishing world we have the privilege to inhabit.   ~ Diane Ackerman