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Entries in sarah hodsdon (48)



The things we are most passionate about color our everything... our outlook, our speech, our disposition, and daresay, our surroundings. It's as if the moment we decide that we are not going to simply blend in with the rest of the landscape that we bloom as creatives.



Making Time

Wisdom knows that time is temporary in nature, fleeting, fragile, and precious. This is a clock I had constructed out of cardboard for a book that was never published. I had remembered a cross-stitched sampler with this old owl in those lovely shades of 1974 (orange, olive green, pink, and brown) in my grandmother's studio. Some of my fondest memories were of making things side by side with her in her artist's space. That time we spent together in a comfortable silence was sacred, the things we made were a testament to the minutes we had crafted into something tangible and lasting. The things we make have a way of trapping time, our creations are infused with the hours of ourselves we lovingly invest. By making the time to create, we are able to hold time in our hands and smile back at the clock's face.




One of the most interesting qualities children have is their natural instinct to simply broadcast, unfiltered and unapologetically, to the world, exactly what it is they are thinking or feeling in that moment. As children age and mature into adulthood, they learn from their environment how to discern and exercise restraint, to extend courtesy by refraining from raw, unsolicited outbursts, and to be quiet.

While visiting a local park and picnic area, a group of baby ducks emerged from the water's edge to warm themselves in the sun. The first few people who had noticed the flock, all adults, said nothing in speech or action to acknowledge their presence. The ducks themselves were silent too. It was as if each duckling was in the process of earning their flight feathers in this training drill, as they dutifully stayed in line, and then found their place on the field to satisfy part A of their exam. Tired from their exercise, the warmth dared them to keep their eyes open.

The park benches were filled with silent observers, some wrinkled, some less wrinkled, some holding hands with another, some holding hope in their fingertips, some remembering, some wanting to forget... all extending courtesy and staying quiet in their thoughts. The little girl bounding down the sidewalk could not have been more than 4 years old, her freckles tacked down angelic on her face and held her smile permanent. Her riot of strawberry blond curls were contagious, springing with energy that transferred instantly to all those who witnessed them and her chatter snapped passerbys out of their reveries. She squealed with delight upon seeing the flock of ducklings and tip toed towards them with the grace of an elephant. She said "hello babies." The child could not contain her excitement when one single duckling, looking her straight in the eye, quacked. She burst into tears and laughter at the same time, awestruck that Nature would speak her language. In that moment, we all became children.

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