Is that light...
is it morning...
or is that reflections from the streetlight peeking through the blinds?
I feign consciousness.
It is so faint, the light. It is morning. Barely. A new day.
Like a pogo stick, my mind jumps from one thing to another, trying to remember my to-do list for this last Friday of January. Oh, but first: COFFEE.
I pad downstairs, spying my charcoal and cream, insanely warm fleece pullover. Instant coziness. Harkening winter birds outside the sunroom remind me again -- yes, I hear you, little ones. It IS morning. Sing on, friends. Sing with soul. Acoustic has long been my favorite.
I light a candle. And then another. Keep it coming -- flickering delicate light that visually warms and comforts me -- so I light more. Reflections. Winter. The perfect canvas for reflection.
Making it to the post office (why must the postal worker be so chatty when there's a long line of waiting customers, can the story of her aunt in Ohio wait?), then off to pick up a few muchies for the upcoming Super Bowl. And Stella Artois. My football beverage of choice.
It's been a quiet last fews days of unplanned solitude for me. Rediscovering my lost passions ... painting. Creativity.
Rummaging through my inventory of paints, stains, waxes, brushes -- all things art -- I collect an array of colors for my experiment. Black, canvas white, burnt sienna, urban bronze, camel. They will play quite well together.
It is DEPTH I'm going for on a tired but promising mirror hanging in the stairwell. I should have taken a "before" -- I almost always forget. From a pale two-tone gloriless gray that did NOT pop, to this........
Depth. Soul. Rugged. Acoustic, even.
If my mirror had a voice, it would be raspy and mesmerizing. Like Ray LaMontagne. (Oh, what a voice)
Mission accomplished.
