A hawk landed on a fairly low branch above the street catching my attention as I walked through the neighborhood.  I watched it ruffle its feathers and expected it to fly away as I got closer.  It took wing but flew only a short distance and found another branch.  Several steps later I saw a half-eaten rabbit on the ground.

Ah!  That’s why it didn’t fly away.  The hawk is protecting its kill.  Well, no.  More than kill, this is what keeps it alive.  

And since I love to think in terms of serendipity and a creative, nurturing universe, I took that chance event (it was raining, but I felt the strong need of a walk so grabbed my umbrella and went anyway) as an omen.  “Protect your work.  It’s important.  It’s precious.  It’s life-giving.”

For several reasons I’ve been on a too-many-years-long sabbatical from writing.  As I return the emotions jump and sizzle like water on hot grease.  Why did I let this happen?  I should have been writing all this time.  

Fear and anxiety threaten the new beginning and I wonder: What have I lost?  But what have I gained?  Perspective? Appreciation?  Understanding?  Yes, all of these, but maybe best of all: passion.

Maybe I needed to let time heal some of the disappointment of rejection letters and help me see that it’s all good, that regardless of outcome, this is what I love to do.  This is what feeds me.

While I wore many hats before, now I can put some of them away.  I’ll still take them out, but mostly I’ll wear my writer’s hat.  Instead of thinking of my career in terms of years, I’ll think of it in terms of parts.  Instead of thinking about how old I am, I’ll think of myself as further along on the journey.  

That hawk was focused on the part of the rabbit he hadn’t finished.

What a great lesson as I begin again.