As the sun sinks behind "J" Mountain, a gust of wind swoops down into every nook and cranny, gathering with it all the remnants of the day and carrying them away. Night is on its way, along with it the coyotes and owls, and creatures both loud and mighty. As this day slips away, where do its memories linger, if not written by hand on a lonely sheet of notebook paper? The breeze rushes through my studio windows, it whispers like a silent blessing. The twilight hour blooms, my favorite part of the day when it's not quite dark and not quite light - the magical hours where the veil is at its thinnest. That is where I'll stay, along with the hippies, artists and thieves, weaving our webs throughout the night until sun breaks the sky and the rooster in the gulch announces the rise of the sun, and the wind swoops down the mountain again, claiming another new day.
From the Journal of Zushka
Thursday, September 21st, 2017