It is a mood:
a mood that corresponds exactly
With the steady drip of rain
surrounding stillness.
It all began in the innocence of morning. I had returned from walking the dogs through the drizzling freshness of the park to find that I was still there. I had retained the rain-dropped surface of the marsh-lined water, become, if you will, the solitary heron and its moving stillness. Standing in my studio, I found myself breathing out what I had received into something like a dance. My body was moving not to move but because it was manifesting something deep and true. This dance evolved: a bamboo brush was moistened and dipped in ink. It hovered timelessly over the blank white paper surface before descending. I then became rapt observer of the line appearing, barely knowing that my own hand moved the brush. The image that came to life before my eye was more than physical application. It showed me my own longing to be me.
A Dance of Balance 