The Unseen World

Feathers. Everywhere. But no more turkey hen and no more turkey chick. Gone. Just like that.

That’s because some kind of predator swooped down, grabbed mother and child in its talons and flew off into the sky. Just like that--leaving only feathers. It must have been a very large, very strong bird--an eagle? Perhaps a hawk. There was no blood, no carcass, only the tell-tail feathers mournfully lying scattered about the yard.

We're bereft. Okay, I'm bereft. Dr. Thompson, Farmer-in-Residence here are La Belle Farm is probably not bereft. And if he were bereft he wouldn't admit it anyway. He's a stiff-upper-lip kind of guy. And besides, he says there's no crying in baseball.

Creative Friends, we all experience loss. You can't escape it.

Truth is, it’s not always fun making art. Over time you become friends with your work. You've struggled together and laughed and despaired, but carried on. It's been quite the journey. And then, something happens--a hawk flies into your studio and steals your baby. Okay, not a hawk, but something else--perhaps an editor rejects your efforts, or a gallery says no, or perhaps a music venue says there is no room for the likes of you.

You feel a sense of despair, but Creative Friends--this is no time to quit. Rather, this is the time to have faith and wait for better days. Sit still and focus. Close your eyes. Brood awhile.

And then, go ahead and make another egg. Give birth to another chick.

And yes, have fun.

Love,

Jamie