Together we romp through a stream, climb sunflower hills, and criss-cross wildflower fields. The beauty of the place feeds my soul, even as my “creatures'” happiness and freedom lifts my spirits. Here, ideas incubate far below conscious thought.
There must be space for creativity to flourish. Here, these accomplishing-nothing-hours are worth more than a million of production.
Like seeds, these moments snatched from the onslaught of time take root, tenaciously grow, and suddenly burst into a riot of sunflowers when paintbrush strokes paper somewhere in the dead of winter.