A Brief Pause at the Edge of Becoming
It seems I am always seeking a place to sit—
not just to rest the body,
but to settle the soul.
Yet even in stillness, Gary Brecka’s words whisper:
“The quickest way to old age
is the aggressive pursuit of comfort.”
So I do not stay long.
I walked until I found a picnic table
beneath a canopy of bare-limbed trees,
branches like open hands waiting for green.
The blue spruces nearby—
stoic, unchanged, whispering that some things endure.
I sketched.
Not perfectly. Not for anyone’s praise.
Just a mark to say: I was here.
Alive in this in-between.
Waiting. Listening.
Not for leaves—
but for something truer than comfort.
Thank you for joining me in this small noticing.
A moment borrowed from the rush.
A table. A tree. A thought.
A gift.
There are only a few lovely large pine trees near my home in the Southwest of Western Australia. This little sprig was found on a walk where there was only the one pine tree in amongst the other trees.
Warm and cool winds mixing and blowing over sand ridges. A memory from living on the edge of a desert in Western Australia. Sometimes, walking the early morning the air is still cool in the shade of the trees, but the moment you step out into the sun, it is already hot.
This is a simple watercolor and pen drawing of a witch hazel tree in winter bloom with an owl perched on top. I love the witch hazel shrub and am thinking of creating a picture book showcasing the plant throughout the seasons.
