Sticks.
Diana 
A conversation between my imaginative mind and my practical mind, involving sticks in a cramped and damp alley.
Today's important topic: Sticks.
I was inspired for today's doodle first by an Irish supporter friend who sent me a note about rivers never flowing backwards. This reminded me of my own mantra about rivers, which goes like this:
"Don't try to push a river, Go with the flow." - Diana Bluthenthal
I've reminded myself to not attempt to push a river for so many years that I can't even recall what first inspired me to think that thought. Still, it's definitely one of those ideas that I revisit regularly when I think something isn't moving along fast enough in life for me. I'm a little surprised that I haven't made a doodle expressing this sentiment yet, so I decided that today would be the day.
Earlier in the afternoon yesterday, I had parked my vehicle in a cramped alley way for an appointment with hubba-hubby. Walking back to the car afterward, I spotted two small sticks ahead of my front tires. They were leaning upon one another and lying in the dirty pavement edge beside a damp brick wall. They were clearly too thick and too old to have snapped free from the tall weed pushing itself through the asphalt. First I noticed their colors. Next I noticed their worn-smooth shapes.
"What are they doing here?" my imaginative mind asked. These sticks were as good as any beach-find but without the beach-- and then I thought sensibly.
My practical mind said to me, "You do not pick up sticks in a city alley way against a dirty brick wall in a cramped parking lot."
"You're right," I replied to my practical side and opened my car door to slide into my seat. But just then another impulse came over me. I left the seat and glanced at hubba-hubby.
"Hold on. I'm just looking real quick at these two sticks over here."
He looked blankly at me, non-committedly. He knows me. One time we walked over half a mile to retrieve a stick that resembled a small garden snake, which I'd regrettably left behind.
I picked up the first stick from the ground and wiped off the black, wet soil on it's underside. Oh my goodness, the beauty of it was captivating to me. This stick had a story to tell. Who had left it here? Who had dared to part with it?
Stick number one was uniformly pale, faded and stripped bare. It had seen some things and been some places. Next I looked down at the second, smaller stick that had been huddling beside the first like a pair of vagabond friends. Stick number two was a warm tea brown and just a little bigger than a twisted straw.
"These are mine," I told my imaginative self. The opposing voice inside of me, the practical one that warned that we don't pick up sticks in dirty alley ways, was apparently even won over by the idea, because it said not another word. I mean, you just don't find sticks like these everyday.
I climbed back into the car.
"They are a little dirty from today's rain, but aren't they so cool looking? Look at their colors," I said to hubba-hubby as I propped them into the coffee cup holder in the console between us. I'd say he looked supportive.
"I'll just wash them when we get home," I added, which he later did for me-- another supportive gesture.
Below is a photo of my found treasure...
What do you think of my sticks-de-resistance, as I imagine French stick collectors might say? Do you also feel drawn to collect found objects in nature, and if so, what? I'd love you to send a quick reply and tell me-- and if we're not yet connected by email, sign up for my free email list below!
Love and hugs, Diana
> Not yet subscribed to my free email list? Join here!
> Want to donate and receive my daily Doodles everyday? Sign up here!
Categories: : Creative Process, Life Exploration