Instead of getting weary… I’m waking up. Coming out of that strange sort of summer sleepwalk, emerging like a hibernating bear of southern latitudes.
"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most dazzling view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds." – Edward Abbey
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for an endless instant,
to stop, this miracle in motion,
nature’s hidden, fragile light,
beautiful and boundless…
mistakes and failures, big and small, all equals now, churned together, dredged up and left awash, to remind or regret once more…
Painting, I’ve found is quite a different thing to attempt… and I never seem to approach it the same way twice.
I dove right in to the challenge the house and those gardens presented. And the love of it all spread and thrived inside me.
Sometimes I wish I could go to sleep for the winter…dig down deep into the earth and wake up to new warmth and light.
so walk a little faster, come into the light, let’s see what stuff
you’re made of…