at last the cup of gold vine is in bloom. it has been a tug of war with this plant over the last few years (under water/over water; fertilizer/no-fertilizer; prune/don’t prune,) at least three times i thought i’d killed it, only to see it struggle back to its scraggly, rangy self/a triumph of self-determination & focus not unnoticed or unappreciated by this gardener
the blossom is huge & brilliant (obviously) but the bigger story for me is that it got me to thinking about creativity & how for some people it seems to flow uninterrupted & for others (me, for instance) it comes in spurts & starts, oftentimes needing to lay dormant–all the ingredients mulling around/stewing/composting, a sausage machine extruding its commingled spicy ideas & ground thoughts into a neat little skin of whatever form the final product takes.
of course, some thoughts/sparks of an idea come unbidden–they just are & and are there & are welcomed as naturally as a mother to a lost child, others are buried deep & are nurtured along (fed/tended/hoed/talked to/weeded/mulched/watered/a dollop of steer manure around the roots for good measure) or completely forgotten until, surprisingly they bud & bloom & oof! they must be expressed (that struggle too is creative–the form it takes, the way you manage it–or not.)
but these blooms, these spring blooms (our glorious climate & its early spring) dresses/ball gowns designed for just one brilliant royal dance each year, promenaded to the delight of the assembled guests are
[i stood up & walked away just now to look out the window at the rain & listen to its running patter on the roof & its rapid descent through the downspout–our house a giant water feature — de rigueur maintenant pour la maison à la mode]
for me the embodiment of creativity/its one-way nature; its inexorable nature lies in each of us/a call to arms that only some hear & answer but that all embody.
exhortation: listen, listen closely, when it calls/knocks/honks/toots/tweets/vibrates/rings/runs you down, answer it & watch it bloom.