From Far Away

(Click on the thumbnail for the bigger, better version)

I have been away. Well, in a sense, that is the truth. I have always experienced illness and recovery in this way. While I am ill, as well as during the period when I am returning to full strength, I feel strangely disconnected from the real me. Even as I write these words, I am puzzling over that statement. After all, I’m not one to claim that I have ever had a firm handle on the real me. Perhaps more accurately, I am keenly aware of not feeling quite like anyone I recognize, during an illness. There have been occasions when a recovery period was dominated by massive bursts of creativity—bursts of activity that were out of character with what is more or less my norm. Still others have been deep troughs of non-productivity with nary a creative urge anywhere to be found. This little period of recovery from something relatively minor certainly has fallen in the latter category. I imagine that may be partly because I realize that I am storing energy for the next recovery that, I now know, will begin next week.

I do know that I am doing well because, if nothing else, I am having much better dreams. The feverish nightmare about the giant beetle-type bug that cornered me by glaring with huge malevolent yellow eyes gave way, a few nights later, to a soothing dream of enormous spring flowers that had sprung up all over our property during the night. I was happily looking forward to photographing the lavender blossoms, when I awoke to see the frost on the ground. I sure wish I knew where to find those flowers. They were unlike anything I have ever seen while awake. A promise for spring?

I also know how well I am doing because I am busy getting everything prepped to allow me a few days of sitting or lying like a vegetable without having everything here go to hell in a hand basket. Lots of mundane chores, on top of some of those usual errand-running trips to Bakersfield and LA, are in the offing.

I still begin to droop around three o’clock in the afternoon, but each day I am more ready for this surgery and a record-rapid recovery. Meanwhile, those creative juices are stewing somewhere deep in my consciousness and who knows what will happen this spring. I do know that The Husband planted daffodil bulbs. Whoopee. I won’t even have to leave the property to appreciate the cheerful yellow blooms that make Bear Valley Springs so colorful and offer a welcome glimpse of spring. Moreover, I am certain that I look forward to much more exploration of speedlites for supplementing natural light.

Soon, I—whoever that may be—will be back.