Chris Zielski

This past weekend we went for a walk through what we call our orchard – mostly it’s where we want our orchard to be. There are a few fruit trees, but none mature enough to bear fruit. But we visit every so often to hope and wonder how much longer it will be.

I received the nicest rejection letter the other day. In part because I wasn’t expecting one. I hadn’t applied to anything, and wasn’t sitting on pins and needles waiting for a response. It simply appeared.

That is, it appeared because someone else submitted my work for consideration to something. Which was both incredibly thoughtful and completely unexpected. So instead of emotionally registering as the outcome of some sort of high-stakes poker game, rejection felt like a sweet surprise.

I’ve been getting a lot of messages from the Universe lately. Little ones, but deceptively important. Meghan Brondos’s nudge to find stillness. A random social media post admonishing everyone to stop pretending everything is okay. We’re in that groggy space after getting up in the morning but before we’re fully awake. The days after an illness when we’re no longer sick, but not fully well, either. The in between when we try to do too much, push too hard, return to normal too quickly.

The fields around my studio are awash with sunflowers these days. Mammoth Mongolian giants that tower over the yard. Heirloom pale primroses that hearken back in time. Brilliant yellow flames that shine like an Aztec sun. And my favorite of all, the Mexican reds.