Right now, where I am, there is just me. Right now, have no wish to learn to adapt to another Adapting to life as it is now takes my all: Learning the why, the how, the what all do I want, Need from life.
Read: Follow the heart, trust intuition, allow Uncertainty, accept, give love. Fear is Based on ignorance. Uncertainty I have, love I had. Out of these, where do I go. On a level wish someone would say here be with me, all is well. Would be foolishness.
In P'town I saw a painter whose words resonated with me when she wrote her paintings were not about loneliness, But about solitude. I have to consider solitude more, not as an option But as a destination, a place to embrace, feel comfortable in And to own. For now, while encompassing this, I miss the relationship Of a good marriage. We were good our own. For now, I do Still hurt often.
Three months ago was told its getting late, best I be on my way. No idea where I'd go, just be gone. A mother's wish. Went, wondering why leaving family, hers, was better than staying. Left that night going back, no, no going back My back gone. As was hers again and how we deal with our hurts does not Always make sense. Sometimes hold only to what we are, slight Though it be.
The days and evenings in cherished company, Not what I had, that sweet envelope with you, but, It is good. In my own way, am coming, still often kicking and screaming, To cherish not only the sweet time with friends but also, My own time.
Somewhere I read and marked Quiet anticipation is the mainstay of a life lived alone. Whatever that means. Anticipation, yes I would say mine is quiet waiting For the return of a group of friends with whom I'll Paint and enjoy.
Saw two eagles this afternoon while riding It has cooled, it is beautiful, the air soft, The horse good. It is the second week of this month Of commitment and contemplation, of learning How to stay. Never thought it would include such as this Equation of life as it is now. And here There is good.
The Studio at Line's End Farm is where I paint and try to find some joy again, and some equilibrium, not simple these days. One weblog records thoughts, ideas, methods and mixtures, palettes, observations, actually anything that intrigues me concerning my painting and working in the studio. Another observes only the horse in paintings that I find influential. The last are done for my sanity. All are my opinion only, open to other suggestions.
I will write in red, for my dear, love; who never saw red, not in ink, not in ire.
In 2010, the cold went beyond ten decades, was a century mark of hard winter through the mid-atlantic. For one small household banked by an Eastern Shore river this winter was epochal.
