Jodi Hills

So this is who I am – a writer that paints, a painter that writes…

Tag Archives: sun


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Love’s bright spot.

It always comes as a surprise — the morning dark. It is delightful though, that I still believe summer will never end. That the morning light will sprinkle me awake and pull me into the promise of ever. And I make those same promises back. I always have.

From the moment I stepped off the last school bus ride of the year. I’d drop what was left of the documentation of another year at Washington Elementary, and I’d pull off my bumper tennis shoes without taking the time to untie, and I’d wiggle my feet in the yet unmown grass, and to each blade of green that snuck through the spaces of winter toes, I would promise to enjoy every moment of sun lit wonder.

And oh, how I filled my pockets with light. Wagons pulled. Balls hit. Bikes ridden. Each one a bright spot to carry me through the winter I would never see coming.

I suppose it’s the same with love. All that light and promise. Even in the darkness, it never goes away. It wiggles through toes and dances in hearts, and keeps its promises. Ever.

I smile at the morning dark. I am not afraid. Everything is still possible. And I am surely loved.

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The view.

You have to work at the romance of it all. Loving, sure, but for living as well. Even the most beautiful of places can dim when you’re not looking for the best croissant, but instead going to your dentist appointment.

Maybe it’s too literal, but yesterday, to improve the view, I started washing windows. Will that guarantee a rainy day today, even in one of the most sunny places on earth? Most probably. But I would do it again. And will. Because that moment of clarity in which I see it — really see it — the beauty all around me, without the dust of ordinary, this view is priceless. So I make the effort.

That is not to say that it doesn’t often come with condition and complaint. I’m not proud of it, but it does happen. But if I’m going see the beauty through the imperfections of a streaked window, then I have to allow the same for myself. Because these “streaks of imperfection” show the work put in, the effort made. And there is beauty in this. Perhaps even me.

So I ask of those around me, near and far, when I make the smudged attempts at beautiful living, even when I fail, perhaps, fingers crossed, heart hopeful, you will see the love in it all. Through the streaks of romance, beyond the damage and the dust, we all, I suppose, await the sun.

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Perhaps, to bloom.

“I was leaving…to fling myself into the unknown… to transplant in alien soil, to see if it could grow differently, if it could drink of new and cool rains, bend in strange winds, respond to the warmth of other suns and, perhaps, to bloom.” Richard Wright

My painting style keeps evolving. Along with my writing. And why wouldn’t it? With only a pocketful of native seeds, I left my small hometown, for a slightly bigger city. First 60 miles away. Then 120. Then more. And more again. Scattering from field to sidewalk. And picking up more along the way. 

My first business card was topped with their name. Then mine below. Smaller. But fitting, I suppose, as I was a mere version of myself. But I wasn’t afraid. It was my grandfather who taught me that everything grows in its time. Its place. He rotated his crops. I didn’t have the words for it then, but here they are now, so elegantly put  — my grandfather, he too, was in search of “new and cool rains,” “bend in strange winds,” and the “warmth of other suns.” 

I just received my new order of business cards — tiny blossoms of the seeds I have sprinkled here in France. Planted on canvas and in person. This is not my humid soil of youth. It is cracked and dried from centuries old. And I can feel it against my skin as I work my way to the daily sun. But it is warm. And it is my name atop the card. I am becoming more of myself. Embracing (not the promise) but the perhaps of it all — the glorious perhaps of the bloom. 

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The welcome.

Of all the beautiful French qualities, being early is not really one of them. So it was more than a surprise when our newest Orsolini made his appearance six weeks early. But I suppose for little Charlie, he was right on time.

We spend so much time in our lives moving from box to box as we check off the numbers on the forms. It’s funny then that the two things which come to mind when describing humans as special have nothing to do with numbers at all, or even the age of the body. For the very young, when they do something remarkable we say, “they have an old soul.” And for the special moments of the aged we declare them “young at heart.” I suppose it’s because these hearts and souls are all we really have within our grasp. Certainly not time. We can chase it. Try to save it, speed it up, slow it down. Yet we remain unsuccessful. So then we try to gain its affection by giving it power — saying it heals — but it doesn’t. 

It’s all about what we do within the precious time we’re given. And it is so very precious. The love in our hearts and the hope in our minds, at any time, can heal, create, inspire and change almost anything, if we choose to see the possibilities within all of us. 

It often takes special occasions for us to stop and see it. But what if we could welcome a random Tuesday, an apple from the vine, a neighbor’s wave? Give it all the importance it deserves. What if we welcomed each old soul and young heart with the same enthusiasm as a baby Charlie!!! Maybe then, we wouldn’t just be wasting our time. 

Possibilities begin to rise, and so we look up. Welcome, Friday! Welcome sun! Welcome, Charlie!!!!

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The sun isn’t lost.

On the box it said four to five weeks. But yesterday, just two weeks in, this one tulip made its entrance. Popping up to say hello. Telling the others, “It’s not so bad at all, once you make it through the dirt. In fact, it’s lovely. Blue sky. This glorious light. Come on up!”  

Change can be so difficult. And we don’t always get to be prepared before we’re asked to grow. Struggling through lessons of muddy soil. Life will get you dirty. No doubt about that. But then the sun. That glorious sun. Always there, smiling, even when we try to take credit, saying, “Look what I did! I found the sun!”  

Now that’s not to say you can’t be proud of yourself when you get through. That’s a big deal! And you should be happy about that. And perhaps the best way to celebrate is to show the others that it can be done. Bring them along. Because you never know which role you will be in. Some days you will be the strong one, popping up early, other days you will be deep, deep in the soil. Be gentle when you lead. Gentle when you follow. We’re all just trying to get to the sun.