This past Monday, a February holiday in Ontario, was sunny & the outdoors inviting. My BF & I went down to the water front off of Lakeshore. I’ve written about going there before. But trust me in winter, one is less inclined to venture forth. Usually an ugly cold dismal & grey wind-whipping  awaits. I go to clear my mind, hoping some of the flotsam & jetsam, art insecurity & philosophical questioning will get swept away along with tumultuous mess of fine curly hair, otherwise known as the nest on my head... Yes! It was warm enough to be hatless for a minute or two, until toque time.

And the walking & the glorious clear sky & real sun were like manna from u-no-where & then afterwards sitting in large wicker chairs no less, in a not too delicious but absolutely perfect cafe, with the truly hot sun now pouring into the front window on the north side of gritty Queen, was like some kind of healing ceremony, a mystical walk alone into the woods for gentle self reflection & strengthening... An OM moment. Freedom from the stresses of art production, I put my head back like a happy seal basking in the glory of a full'o'fish belly on hot sand.

Some of us undoubtedly wander into the woods of an art career with more sense of self & marketing ability than others, let’s say. I even know some, or one. Not this cookie. I am prone to crumbling, setting out for healthy ingredients & giving into white sugar & all-purpose but no-good-purpose flour. I am a kitchen sink cookie, everything but the bath water. A disabled by panic clunker of a cookie. Will they rise?  a what did I forget(?) kind of cookie & will they be edible(?), or do you suppose, maybe taste good... Successful cookies?

I, apparently, am a worrying home-made cookie, with some kind of alcohol soaked fruit bits, which may or may not be a good addition.

So a walk in the sun, listening to clucking CDN geese, re-visiting lapping lake water, sun-glassed, toqued head to the big sky. Therein lies promise & cleansing.