I awoke this morning to a hauntingly beautiful dawn with yellow and salmon colored clouds hanging like lace over the blue-green ridge line of the mountains—nothing unusual as that is often the case in this valley. But today, there was something else stirring besides the sun.
The window was wide open and the sound of birds in the nearby woods filled the bedroom. I quietly rolled out of bed and tiptoed down the stone steps without a sound, making my way out to the studio. For the past 6 months, neither of us had gone into the studio to work. The guitars had been put away and the drawing board stowed. That era of music, story and art had ended, so we decided to wait patiently for new inspiration to arrive. We wanted to create something fresh and current, rather than something rooted in old patterns and habits. We didn’t want to fall into a familiar, comfortable routine simply because it was familiar and comfortable. Deciding to write our book “Under the Tuscan Thumb” was an early sign of relief and fresh direction. New possibilities emerged from the intentional space that we allowed and a future began to open.
Arriving in the studio I pulled the old guitar out of the closet. It felt like a dear friend, comfortable and welcoming. I opened the front window, allowing the filtered light to reflect among the purple flowers and began playing a song—a new song. Within minutes a melody line formed as I wrapped myself around the guitar. I settled into the moment, immersed within the soothing sounds. For now I’ll call it Morning Glory.
Stepping out of the studio, softly playing and singing, I looked up to the bedroom window—still open wide. The birds chirped a perfect chorus to the music. Cheryl appeared in the window as if on cue, looking down with a sleepy grin. We exchanged a glance of recognition—this is the song and the moment we had been waiting for. With new music, our book now has a companion.
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