Hearing clouds

It's snowing a little bit. Montreal is still largely undiscovered, and I like this. I'm here in out apartment in the middle of it with so much happening around me, and yet our apartment is quiet. Astrid is sleeping. One hears somehow in the sound of the traffic going by that it's cloudy and that there's snow on the ground. Or would I hear it like that if I hadn't seen it?

I am thinking about things I usually think about: how to dive and leap in order to create something, how to find time in my chaotic life as a mother to still say something. Thinking about action and how you don't always know what you're going to do before you do it. Wanting to be more active with writing and with creativity. Wanting to keep the wolves of doubt and practicality at bay.

Are things so difficult? Is it me that makes them like that? Is one allowed to be more child-like, more trusting, more joyful? Or maybe the question is, can one allow oneself to be that way? A little bit. In between all the calls groceries clean-ups make-ups business money worries responsibilites.

I was surprised yesterday how little it took to make feel a sort of skittery, butterfly-like joy. (after a day of feeling somewhat oppressed by winter and business things that needed attention.) I went down our 2 flights of stairs and a little down the street to a café to get an espresso late in the afternoon. I talked about french espresso terms with the clerk while a guy was playing an old piano in the corner. He was playing an old song, wartime music or old jazz. It was upbeat and he was playing his heart out and I felt so uplifted, it was like the first time I really knew the meaning of the word.