I sit on my daughter's bed as I type this post, head filled with cotton and throbbing with a insistent ache, the lingering effects of a nasty head cold. There is something cruel about catching a cold just when the weather turns. Looking out the window I see blue skies and a bluebird who briefly graces me with his presence. Popeye is curled up at my feet, softly snoring, exhausted from a severe grooming he received yesterday. We should be outside; I know this, I know I am wasting what is a beautiful spring day, but I somehow cannot gather the motivation I need to slip into a pair of shoes, gather up Popeye's leash and step out the door.
Spring has been slow in coming to our corner of Connecticut. On Instagram I enviously browse through shot after shot of cherry blossoms, apple blossoms, forsythia covered in gold, most likely taken in more southerly climes. In our backyard the only sign of spring is the patch of sweet blue flowers that faithfully bloom each spring. I don't know the name of this flower but I adore it. For a brief few weeks they carpet a section of our yard, a promise that spring is really here and that I just need to be patient.
Patience is not my strongest character trait and learning this virtue is something I continue to attempt to master. I am someone who will skim ahead if a book is taking too long to reveal a secret, and will become frustrated if I am slow to master a skill. On Thursdays I attend a watercolor class. When I decide on a subject to paint I want to get right into it, never mind the planning, the trying out of technique on scrap paper. In contrast, the student who sits across from me is steady and deliberate in her approach. She takes the time to develop her skills, painting trees over and over, becoming adept at manipulating water, color and brush, slowly coaxing fir trees into existence. She is patient and immersed in the process, eventually rendering a lovely piece of art.
I learn so much from watching her.
Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Pause. I need to cultivate patience. Spring will unfold at her own pace, my cold will run its course, with practice I will learn to flow with my paints.
I need only to be patient and trust the process.
Sharing Nurturing Thursday with Becca.