Lately, I’ve been watering the weeds.

The plan was to create a fairy garden this year. With hollyhocks and other wild flowers, I was told to toss in bed above soil—they’ll be up by July… There are tiny ceramic mushrooms standing watch, and solar balls that flick on I can see from my loft window, popping on right after dusk. Dependable.

From this loft, I’ve been dreaming; writing a few things down, and reading. Always reading, gaining inspiration wherever I can find it these days. As I walk the ladder up to my oasis, I can see the Sangre de Cristo from my window, and have a good sense of when the next storm may roll in. I can somehow focus better up here, above most things, and look eye level to a bird staring right at me, resting on a shade sail pole I haven’t used yet. I can watch my geranium pot grow, and the few marigolds that survived a late, May hailstorm, ala’ New Mexico skies.

Sometimes, I re-read poetry, or Edgar Allen Poe, or an acting book by Uta Hagen that I highlighted to death in the late nineties. Up in my loft, I can somehow focus better than I have in years, and actually complete the tedious tasks of choosing new headshots, or updating my website with new gigs. Thank God for singing and set lists, and the events that keep me teaching. Chop wood carry water—the loft helps with that. I talk to the bird, having no idea what kind it is, but pretty. The Buddha rests in the garden near the marigolds and he too, brings me a steadiness I’ve been striving to maintain.

If ever there was a time for a nook and some contemplation—it’s now.

To review and reflect on what we’ve done, and still desperately want to do… To breathe, and remember tomorrow’s not promised. Death keeps us humble. And during days of high anxiety and stress, it’s best to set aside the next for resting. For doing the things that mean the very most to you—today.

I’m still waiting on the hollyhocks, kinda like we all are—hoping and praying for more light to come up. So I tend the fake mushrooms, pull only grass or dead growth out from soil in case it may flower, may delight… I water daily, talk to the blooms—or the weeds…whoever listens…

Just. Shine. On.