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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.


Receiving Messages


One evening, as dusk melted into the tree-line and the dim sparkle of distant flames began to glow overhead, the gal of ferns and moss strolled out into the fields. Her feet felt full of pins, her knees ached to run, and deep inside her abdomen danced a hard ball of adrenaline.

She was wrapped up so deep inside her self, she almost tripped right over the quivering cottontail bunched up in the fescue. "Excuse me," he said as he sat his ground. The gal quickly stepped back and mumbled an apology, something about Distracted and Flight and Need to Run. The cottontail looked kindly at the gal and said "No, I don't think that's it at all. I think you need to stop. To listen. To be patient." The gal sighed shakily and raised one eyebrow. "But I don't have time to stop, I have these deadlines, these dates, these hundred hands pulling, these few stomaches grumbling, these thousand shining bullet points on the shackles of To Do. I have to figure it out Now. I have to. I have to."

They stood an eternity, eyeing the six feet of atmosphere between them. Two hot saltine tears hit the grass. In a voice so quiet the gal wasn't sure if it came from the ground or the sky, the cottontail said "Wait. You can not run and fight at the same time. Those wispy trails of inspiration are not impressed with your hurry, you can not chase them down, you can not grab them with a clenched fist. Wait. They will come to you, they always have, they always will. But you must wait."

He combed one ear as he watched the gal. He nodded at her silence. And then with a flash of white tail and a dull grassy thud he was gone. But the gal stood still. She would wait. She would wait with all her heart and all the faith she could muster. And it would come.

Receiving Messages: Wait
6" x 6"