Spring into Inspiration

Dear readers,

It’s my favorite time of year. When the urge to spring clean consumes me, and early morning birds have come home to sing in the trees. It’s that time for refreshing, being grateful, and learning how to improve. Did I mention, it’s almost time for lilacs to bloom?!

It’s that familiar scent swirling around in the wind outside. Where cheerfully, I open the doors and welcome it in. Excitedly, gray-lilac I paint my toes, and rip off that heavy, extra blanket under the comforter. The sun, with its rise in appearance, unhurriedly, yet almost immediately melts away the leftover snow. Dripping of water droplets splash in puddles underneath cars and roofs and the stillness of gray clouds teases me in hopes for rain. Spring is coming!

My body springs into inspiration. It’s been two years since my blog has been created, but many years I’ve been writing. Two years ago, I was finishing up my senior year in college. I completed my major and was taking writing classes because it’s something I highly enjoy doing. It was then I created my blog and wrote my novel, The Fourth Charm, publishing it in April. And recently, republishing it again. Spring is that time of year that inspires me to write. I’m not sure if it’s the hope of warmer weather coming, or just knowing that something new is in the air. Maybe it’s that John Keats style of writing that I melt for. I live for that flowery description stuff. I could live forever in a moment, describing, writing, how it feels, what it looks like, really breathe in my surroundings.

Writing nourishes my soul. It allows me to breath. I’ve learned to constantly improve on my writing by never stopping. I wrote a book very young, and yes, it may never be read by millions, or even a couple thousand, but it gives myself hope. For me. It’s for me that I write. To inspire myself to improve and live happily. I no longer write for a professor, or grade. I no longer need to follow the rules. I begin my sentences with a preposition sometimes, and may not always use a comma. I write how I would speak at times, and that’s okay. That’s what makes us different, it gives us a voice. It gives me a voice.

With spring in the air, and my second novel 75% complete, I’m welcoming in a beautiful spring and all its inspiration floating at the wings. It’s time to write poems again, and capture the fresh blooms, and share my inspirational journey with you. A romance is swirling around my rose-colored world, and I’m excited, to new beginnings.

Happiness Is Free

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I think at some point, in all of our lives, we start asking the question why. Why am I working at this job? Why am I here? And why can’t I? Just over a month ago I quit my first job after college. There are some things that simple won’t keep me at a workplace, and this was one of those things.

I’d wanted to quite the entire year I was there. Not because of the job itself, but rather because of two individuals. (Props to you two that got promoted on lies and scandal). I however, have moved on and along with moving on, I’ve learned a little bit more about myself, and I am proud.

It takes a strong individual to constantly try to be perfect in the eyes of others. What I’ve learned is this. It takes an even stronger individual to accept imperfection if it means doing the right thing. This was the case with my job. But lets forget about that now.

A month of summer has had a rejuvenating spell on me. Everyone has to work to make money. Money buys things, and therefore makes us happy. Can we be happy without money, or less than what we’re used to? Or for that matter, can we be happy with less-than-perfect lives?

Can money really buy happiness or is it free?

Some of the happiest people I know don’t have a lot of money. Others that do, seem so uptight and worried all the time about having enough. Where does the line have to be drawn?

When a hummingbird migrates North after spring when all the flowers are in bloom, do you think they worry about having enough money to travel with? Or do they fly carelessly, needing only the earth to survive? What makes us anymore special than that of animals or birds? A brain?

Why are so many things just so not important? If life is short, than why not live it happily? Why not do what you love and in the process make money? If living happily can mean imperfection, too, then sign me up because I’ve heard from a little birdie that happiness is free.

 

Living in a Summer Haze…

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Living life is more than simple breathing. It’s the awareness of living by means of sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing.

How does the air feel on your skin? Does the air smell like the sandy ocean? Or does is smell like fresh-cut grass? How does it feel when you see your feet barefoot in the grass, running like a child through a sprinkler and tasting drops of water as they fall to your lips? Can you hear the giggles?

Living is more than simply not being dead. It’s being alive, awake and alert that your body, mind, and senses are real. Living is enjoying these wonders while they last.

Have you ever stopped and just watched a hummingbird drink nectar as it’s perched? It’s like the whole world is in slow motion in that one moment so something so small can taste a sugary necessity.

Living is seeing these beauties and recognizing they are here, before they fly off quickly like the hummingbird’s wing.

Life throws obstacles at us, two at a time. It frustrates us and leaves us drained. It’s a sadness, really, when one cannot see the beauty and real purpose of life. With the way the world is going now, the earth needs us to see the real problems more than ever. Temperatures rising higher and higher. What will the breaking point be?

I had a dream the other night of a tree catching fire while a hummingbird with it’s nest stay protecting it’s two babies the size of dimes. Does she fly away from the fire, leaving her two babies behind or does she stay like Jin in the TV Show Lost, never leaving his loved one Sun, even if that means dying with them. I woke up before the decision even had to be made.

It really got me thinking about what really matters in life. Living, loving, and dreaming to understand a little better, sort things out. When we sleep we ponder on things for hours. When we wake up, the answer is so much clearer. The mind is fascinating, and we need to keep it close to nature and love for others and this earth. Compassion is in all of us.

Whatever it is you are doing, make sure you do it with a purpose. A purpose that betters something or someone in need. Whether it be a person with sickness or an animal in need. We are here to make this world better, not destroy it. So take time to see the beauty and discover the things that truly matter in life. Bring happiness where sadness is, and find love where hate has been forgiven. See the bigger picture. We are all here together, living on this earth.

Chirping Petunias

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This morning, as I’m running around doing some crazy cleaning in my loft apartment, something furry-like plopped right into a bed of petunias in my planter outside. Of course, I didn’t have my glasses on. So, to me it looked like a furry toad had just jumped into my bed of flowers. Yet, it was somehow able to fly (I’ve quite the imagination without my glasses). Still, I wondered what the heck is that?

A bird chirped loudly underneath the standing planter that held the little creature. It was bouncing up and down in a search for something all over the balcony. Chirp, chirp, chirp. It eventually flew away making that same loud chirping noise.

I crept slowly from the kitchen and into the living room to see what all the chirping was about. I got a better look once I was closer to the balcony door. Then, I could see it (whatever it was) still there and blinking slightly as if it were tired. It had a soft cotton-like material floating around it’s head, the kind of feathery material you’d see in a nest.

Right around Mother’s Day, I filled my planter with pink and white petunias, impatiens, violets, and what I call “fairy flowers.” I couldn’t wait this year to plant some blooms and set up my new hummingbird feeder, an airtight one.

I stepped closer to the little creature, curious why it hasn’t fled like the hummingbirds if I get too close. I slid my glasses on and in front of me was not a toad or a weird creature, but a little baby bird.

The other bird chirping madly must have been the little one’s mom. She was trying to see where it had went off to, not knowing the little stinker plopped just above her into a bed of petunias.

At first, I panicked. How am I going to help the mom find its baby when she just flew off? So I called my own mother for advice.

She told me not to worry, that “its a baby but knows how to fly. It got itself into that bed of petunias, it can get itself out.”

There was nothing to do besides watch and wait. I pushed my couch close to the balcony door and kept my eye on him. He must have been really sleepy because his eyelids fell over and over again. I couldn’t help but worry for him. I could hear the mother chirping around elsewhere. Why isn’t the baby chirping back? Does he not want to be found?

But then, a loud helicopter was above, and a man was mowing the lawn down below, making quite the loud noise together. The little baby’s eyes were wide. What a great day to learn how to fly, right little guy? I guess he had to learn eventually, and might as well be today.

When the loud noise was off in a distance I saw his mouth open, not like the real young ones, maybe he was yawning? Chirp little guy, chirp already so your mom can find you. But he just sat on top of those comfy petunias, content.

As I watched and drank my coffee, I could hear the mother’s chirping grow louder and more frequent. She’s trying to find you little guy! I knew what he had to do.

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Chirp, chirp, chirp he finally called back. I smiled sipping the last of my coffee. His wings flapped slow and uncontrolled. My cat watched him and jumped on the screen, kicking her feet and trying to discourage him. But he kept trying. He chirped back the same song  just like his mom. Then, he jumped and flapped his wings to the floor of the balcony.

He was just a little guy standing on his own two feet, petite beak, and bland-colored feathers. He bounced around, seeing his potential of being mighty. He sang and flew off into the wind.

The little bird got me thinking.

We are all born with wings, just like this little bird. We can choose to hide, or we can use our natural born wings and sing loudly. We can fly off with the soft summer breeze and grow stronger with each day forward.

Maybe this bird was simply taking a break from learning how to fly. Maybe he wasn’t actually lost from his mom. But I’ll remember him as the little bird chirping in the petunias that I planted last month. The petunias grew with each sunny day and each time I watered them, they grew more and more abundant.

It’s a nice reminder to see how far we’ve come. But it’s even better to know that we have wings and wherever we fly or hide, we always have the potential to get back up and fly on.