Patience rarely arrives dressed as wisdom. More often, it shows up as a clenched jaw, a clock checked too many times, a half-finished idea tapping its foot in the corner of the room. In creative life, patience can feel like a personal affront. We have visions, sparks, the electric thrill of what could be. We want the thing made, seen, shared. Yesterday would have been ideal.

Times feel tender right now.

A small manifesto for wandering well

Winter Solstice arrives quietly, like a held breath. 

Curiosity is a sneaky little thing.