I need to write. I am too full, spinning in perpetual motion. Hold your centre I hear the bare branched street trees rattle outside my window. Come look at the sky sings a scurrying cloud. Can I finish this story I ask the mountain? Which one will you tell comes the measured response. There are so many trails to wander so I pause from indecision. The direction is apparent but the details lack precision. ‘I am my own muse’ wrote Frida Kahlo. ‘I am the subject I know the best. The subject I want to know better.’ So I drop my resistance and do what I do. Nothing actually matters apart from creating. Release expectations and run with the wind.
La Danse, photographic collage: copyright Jeni McMillan