A Creek Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Whew. Take a breath. Although it is summer, you wouldn't know it by my wardrobe, schedule, or sleeping habits. Even though its June already, it is STILL sweatshirt weather (at least for this poor African body). I still get up every morning around 7, I'm in Armerding by 8, and I get home from my day around 6 (sometimes later).

For some reason I thought that when summer break arrived I would no longer have to be intentional about recognizing the little stories in my life. That's what summer's all about right? Sleep, eat, lay around, count ceiling tiles and notice other inane details we forget to see throughout the rest of the year.

It is dawning on me that art is an active endeavor. You cannot practice it passively, hoping to absorb it through some random bombardment of particles. You have to look at it, hold it, taste it, chew it, spit it out, put it back in your mouth. I am out of practice. My chewing muscles are sore after one bite. So I am back at the beginning, teaching myself to eat once again, seeking the silent stories in the cacophony.