Rest of my day

My self-imposed day of rest went pretty well yesterday, after a difficult start. All morning, I forcibly removed my hands from attempted work: dishes, laundry, ordering online, listmaking, and even dwelling on work to be done in the near future— all its chores and errands and possible traps (let’s call it workworry). By midday... instead of taking a nap from exhaustion, I felt a bloom of creative energy, enough to pull out my canvases and paints. With nothing else *to do* I spent the afternoon painting, something I hadn’t done since covid time started. I finished one painting I had started in February, and I started fresh on another — bringing them outside to check on color in full sun, taking pictures of them, going back inside to play with details on the studio table. Except for a walk in the field, where I photographed a bright yellow warbler and purple-pink vetch, and a brief drop-in visit with regulars at the bocce court, that’s how I spent the *rest* of my day until sundown. Rest: I realize now it means creative rest, not napping from exhaustion over workworry. “Look at the wildflowers of the field, how they neither toil nor spin....”
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