Personal Story

Did you ever go outside and feel that all the birds were singing?

Every single one. So many different songs. That there was a kind of happiness in the air. An exuberance at this moment. As if anything was possible.

Strange, isn’t it - the thought “As if anything was possible?” Most of us rarely think of this.

Suppose, just for a moment that it really is true – that it can be true - that anything is possible right now, just because I tune into and play with “anything is possible.”

What would you do? Really, what would you do?

The sound, the sound
Of the babbling brook
Of a damn of water
Thank you water for flowing
For your beauty
For nurturing my body
For being quenching
On a hot day
For being able to cleanse myself
Showering, bathing
May I never take you for granted
For doing the dishes
Yeah may I not take for granted for doing the dishes
Water you such a needed thing to have
And often I don’t know how much you get appreciated
Everybody needs to be appreciated
Ever thing should be appreciated

It seemed like it would be our ordinary 30 minute walk around our neighborhood, the same route, like every other day – but far from it this day.

First, as we approached a corner, we suddenly noticed a huge turkey vulture sitting on top of a telephone pole with its back away from us.

It was completely unfazed as we stood there for a few minutes admiring this unusual, beautiful sight.

But nothing prepared us for what we were about to come upon in the next few minutes.

I like to doodle. With an extra fine black pen on a piece of ordinary white paper.

The black ink is so stark, yet so controlled, so elegant because the line is so finely precise.

Doodling is one of earliest ways I remember to cope with frustration, with worry, with stress. It relaxes me.

There’s something about setting pen to paper that feels like raw creativity, pure play – no agenda – no picture in mind – just giving myself over to the moment.

It’s amazing to see the kind of plaything a child loves and craves. For example, a big empty cardboard box. A little snip here and there and presto, a small house, or a store, or a spaceship.

Their imagination is so intense and vast and immediate – that it can go way beyond the “stuff” in front of them, and “grow” their own little world.

Overwhelmed? Too many things to do? Like an endless list, with things that put themselves back on the list every month, every week, every day?

I did.

Then one day, I said that from now on I would honor this list all morning, but come lunch, I am free for the rest of the day to do what I want. Sort of “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” And to me what is mine: peace of mind.

I need to honor my own needs, not just the needs the modern world places upon me.

There is something about winter which I really love.

It feels sleepy, resting, in a sense meditating.

It seems to give an upspoken permission to just relax – to have some time for yourself.

All the colors are muted - grays and washed-out browns. And the trees are laid bare, to show a visual essence language written by their shapes, their intricate and poetic lines, all outlined with lacy fine twigs around the edges. At sunset, they glow orange.

The sun is hazy, diffuse behind a gray sky – you may even think it’s the moon.

The Frozen Brook

For more information about Amla Mehta and her work please visit https://www.amlaspeaks.com

I love this memory.
Artwork by Bruce Zboray www.bruce-zboray.artistwebsites.com


The children were small, our boy 5 and our girl 8. We went to Newport, Rhode Island for a day. The highlight of the trip was the Cliff Walk.

It’s a stone pathway in back of the mansions about a mile long.