-Blue Bird

[Words to Image. I pick the image; the image picks the words. This is how I see what I see. Enjoy]

Jillian read the very last story her husband had written and then pushed it across the countertop with both hands. She wanted it to go on forever, but stories must end. She knew this. She knew it well. Jay grabbed his lunchbox and hat and headed off to the mill, just as he had done a thousand times before. Eight years of leaving with a kiss and coming home with one ended just a short week ago. Jullian only received one that day, the one on the way out. He never came home. Corporate cuts and corners, too, robbed her of this. The explosion made the news.

She hesitated but then forced her hands to let go and then quickly brought them to her face. Maybe she could use them to hold back the dam. She felt the tears coming on, again, like she had and more to let go. She found some.

Jay was an author who loved to write. Jillian loved reading them about as much. She was always his first and most trusted critic. Her input absolutely influenced the outcome. One thumb up and he would go to work on a rewrite. Two thumbs and he sent it to his editor.

One evening, Jillian decided to see what this passion he felt was all about. Perhaps the attempt would bridge the gap between life and death, and she could at least feel closer to him for a little while. She decided to give it a try.

Crumpled paper after crumpled paper rimmed the trashcan on a daily basis. She just couldn't seem to connect with her own passion. It always felt forced as if her connection with him hinged on it. She gave up.

She later attended an event and overheard a group of gentle in a circle listening as one man spoke.

"Passion is yours alone. You must not try and rob it from another, you must find the one that speaks to you, not them."

His words wouldn't leave her. Perhaps just one more try at writing, she thought.

That very evening, she sat at Jay's desk with pen and paper in hand ... but nothing came, except her heavy sigh. She pushed away and stood up. Her chosen passion was the great outdoors. This is where she always felt alive, so this is where she went. She chased her previous heavy sigh with another and closed both eyes. She saw him, Jay. She remembered his face, the sound of his voice, his smell. She remembered the way his smirk would cause her to forget why she was upset with whatever it was. She missed him.

Suddenly, she had a thought and ran with it. It was a great thought. She ran with it until she had to return to the desk and write it down. But then ... block. She had to return outdoors and imagine his face before her thoughts returned. It was nothing he ever said or did but somehow, her thoughts of him brought it to mind, and it was brilliant.

Eventually, running inside to write didn't work. Holding a pen and paper while she stood outdoors didn't either. She had to resort to a tape recorder. She closed both eyes, imagined him, and then pushed record once the inspiration came to her. She talked for hours until the recorder clicked off. She had found a way to connect her passion and his. Together, they wrote many beautiful stories together. Together, she enjoyed their passion.

Jillian went on to be more of a successful writer than her husband. Fame and fortune were kind to her. She always attributed her creativity to a mysterious 'blue bird.' The media often questioned her meaning, but it was not for them or the papers, it was just for her and Jay. It was their blue bird.

[Find your passion, your true blue bird, and listen to it. If you enjoyed this, please, 👍,🗣, and ➡️.]