Copses Speak

The outcome isn’t up to us. Even so, I persist in believing that moving into the moment, and away from managing it, changes everything that is going to happen: I see a left turn that wasn’t there before, a hummingbird arrives out of clear air hovering close to my cheek, a single yellow leaf floats in slow motion down to the ground. It helps to befriend boredom. Patience joins time to eternity, says our Kentucky poet, Wendell Berry.

I try to remember this when I am struggling with a painting, impatient with what I see. Who do I think I am to assume for the canvas what is next? There is even some relief in knowing the outcome is not up to me. The solace is in part due to remembering that there are prompts in the air, always there. As now, when I just stop and listen, my hand is prompted with words that unearth what is holy in every unfinished mess — all the falling piles of paper burdened with words that have lost their way. And I know, or at least my hands know, that when I find the lost words they lead me right back to you.