You are my favorite color. It is sunlight through the translucent new grasses and leaves of spring. Hope and victory over decay and endings. A lime popsicle from the ice-cream truck in the scorched alley, given by a super-cool two wheel riding twelve year old cousin, named Marc… It is the sour flavor of the lollipop given by the doctor who said his patient deserved two, for bravery. The shamrock that grew in the soil of holy ancestors. You keep the kitchen sweet and clean, little sleek Swiffer, the “quicker picker upper.” A humble friend.
It isn’t summer yet, but the thermometer has hit 90, and the sprinklers are on, and kids are running through them, so it might as well be summer! Festivals start, and beer is consumed, and popsicles. It is very, very good to be alive. I work with a 90 year old woman who has a lot of vim and vigor. It makes me hopeful. I will paint, I will immerse myself in green and blue, and pink. I will remember to be grateful, for it opens the mind and heart!
I’m actually just trying to figure out how this works–so this post doesn’t count–OK?
November —wait a minute—is today the 14th or the 15th? This is totally an appropriate way to begin this blogging experience. Not knowing the date! It is one of those two days, and I could probably figure it out by various reference points. It is definitely Tuesday, and Saturday was the 12th. Aha!
So–today is November 15th. Yesterday was a sunny 70 degrees by the shores of the Potomac. It was blustery, with flags often at stiff attention, and yellow/red leaves scuttling across the parking lot. Today is gray and calm, and a bit cooler, I think. That’s the weather report, for both yesterday and today!
I have recently discovered the bliss of sitting by the Potomac River on a bench and sketching. Not necessarily sketching the scene in front of me (the other day I spent an hour and a half working on a pencil pet portrait) but letting the river give me gentle focus.
Listening to kids playing tag somewhere, saying hello to a hiker or two, and an old couple holding hands, and some dog walkers with a child in a front pack. In awe of the initiative of the occasional kayaker or speedboater utilizing the liquid highway in front of me.
The autumn trees were placidly mirrored in the water which reflected a light blue sky, and golden sycamore leaves floated silently down from towering trees on the banks and began a journey far from the home they had always known. Life drifting by, summer ending, and winter coming on…
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