Lily Writes

“…in the arts, what you create, no one who was ever born before you or will be born from your death onwards, will ever compose exactly the same thing you did. so in that sense., art is a unique expression of the individual…” Neil deGrasse Tyson

Over the weekend, I did something rare for me: I took a break. No writing. No editing. No plotting or rewriting. Just breathing.

Michigan was showing off — crisp air, golden light, the kind of fall weekend that insists you step outside. I pulled out my paints, set up my easel in the yard, went for a long walk, had lunch with my son at a new restaurant, and put on some music while the sunlight poured in. It felt good to let the creative pressure go quiet for a while.

My son, meanwhile, has his own calling — he’s a cat dad and rescuer of strays and ferals. His home sits on a wooded lot near Eight Mile, with a stream running behind it, the kind of place where deer, birds, and the occasional coyote wander through. Among his regular visitors is Burt — a scrappy, one-eyed tomcat who’s been coming around for more than three years.

Burt’s got stories written all over his scars, but he loves my son. Twice a day, he shows up for food and affection, curling up in his lap, purring like a motor. When the weather turns bitter, he’ll come inside — but only as far as the back hallway, as if the wild still has him by the tail.

Lately, though, my son’s been worried. Coyotes have been getting bold, and he decided it was time to try bringing Burt inside for good. It worked for AJ, another rescue who now lives like a pampered prince, but Burt’s been wild too long. The vet found a few health problems, so for now he’s recuperating indoors — getting meds, getting loved, and maybe, just maybe, learning what safety feels like.

He’s not sure yet if he wants to stay. Maybe he’ll choose freedom again once he’s healed. Maybe he’ll decide that warmth and comfort suit him after all. Either way, my son’s giving him the choice — and the chance.

As for me, I spent the weekend painting, soaking in the changing colors, and letting my creative energy refill. Sometimes the best thing a writer can do is stop writing long enough to listen — to the wind, the quiet, and the small, wild hearts still learning to trust.

Oh — and if you’re looking for a great read while you recharge, I’ve been devouring Holly Day’s M/M supernatural romances. I stumbled across her work on Kindle and fell in love with her imagination and worldbuilding. Highly recommend!