Two weeks ago, I walked in Hayward, Wisconsin and photographed the change of seasons. I spied an interesting stump and snapped away. It wasn’t until I looked at the photo that I saw the horse. My brain had only registered “twisted dead tree trunk.” It was the camera that “saw” and revealed the gift in the woods. Now I wonder how many other wonderful, magical, whimsical surprises surround us each day, except we only ever see what we expect to see. My wish is that we all start “seeing” hidden horses. Maybe dragons won't be far behind. Or angels.

Perhaps, Rumi said it best:

God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,
from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flowerbed.
As roses, up from the ground.
Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,
now a cliff covered with vines,
now a horse being saddled.
It hides within these,
till one day it cracks them open.
​

This sounds a wee bit pretentious, but two weeks ago I was in Florence. Yes, that Florence.  My sister-in-law Terri and I took a break from our tour and went off to see the Medici private home. Unlike many of the other tourist sites we'd visited in previous days, we practically had the place to ourselves.

As always, at the back of my mind, I was musing about what the future held for me as a writer and my two middle-grade novels still waiting for a home.  I'd started to ask The Universe in earnest for a sign as to whether I should just let this dream go. The question popped into my head again just as I turned my head and saw a large hour glass on a shelf.

​The sand had run out.  

Oh, dear.

Since returning home, I've chosen to "reinterpret" that sign.  I don't think my dream of being a published writer is dead, or past it's appointed hour, but I do think the end of something is around the corner. A part of life has run its full course. There is an ending in my future. But, like all endings, this will open the door to a new beginning. 

After all, when an hour glass runs out, you turn it over.
​