c o l l e c t m o m e n t s , n o t t h i n g s
This morning I woke up with the first words of a short story in my head. An unspoiled, opening sentence. I love it when this happens.
Someone brought me wildflowers last night, and they were the first thing I saw. She brought them with cropped stems, arranged in a green foam. I put them in water.
Leftover summer in a cup.
Natural watercolors. Purple veins fanning out, bleeding into blue.
Isaac is home today. He stayed up all night long, coughing.
He is painting. His new favorite thing.
Sometimes I wish I could paint like I was five again. Freely, simply.
A great big block of colors blooming out across the page.
Later he will take a nap (under protest), and I will also paint.
A new piece about strength.
Here we are in our living room this afternoon, somewhat blurry:
Isaac likes to wear stripes with plaid, not always matching.
He prefers not to look at the camera, unless he is doing something theatrical.
I have worn this shirt since I was eighteen in college.
It reminds me of a happy time, and one Fall day in particular.
Since this is the only photo in which he is actually looking at the camera,
of course my eyes are closed.
live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry. - kerouac