The bowerbird builds his tower meticulously. The piles of flowers, fruits, and severed butterfly wings must be just the right colors. Should wind or other creatures disturb his art, he patiently puts everything back. He builds, ostensibly, to court a mate. He builds for love. But maybe the enlightened bowerbird builds to please himself, simply to create beauty. Maybe some days he wakes up in a state of ennui. No color pleasing enough. No structure interesting enough to get out of the nest. He’s blocked. What does he do then? Does he have tricks to rekindle his love for the art? Or does he think these questions of inspiration and motivation are bird-brained. Just grab another twig. Some towers are pleasing. Others just have to do.
If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. A comment, a share, or even just a like goes a long way. Writing into the silence is its own practice, but knowing the work lands makes it easier to keep showing up.
I, of course, love this one.