This weekend Cohen's coming home is the music I needed to hear, to feel; going home without my sorrow Going home tomorrow. Going home with a lamp fixed, as well as any thoroughly Broken thing can be fixed. Going home to where it is Better than before. Going back to let the light between the cracks, able To let Light in again. Going home without my burden, Just going home.
The sky this evening is exquisite, The cloud cover beautifully patterned, Colors just perfect. A lovely contrast with lavender clouds Over the palest of viridian overlaid with rose Lining the horizon. I can sit here every evening, and mostly do. Entranced with the specatacle before me and Memory of you.
Within the sound of surf, I am These presious days, at a friend's Fine beach house. Within the sound of surf, I stay In a serene room listening, feeling The pounding surf. Within the sound of surf, I let The fullness of space come through Heart and soul.
In that corner of the field three deer startled, leap Into the pine stand, white tails flagging, quickly Out of sight. But not hearing, as brush crackles beneath hooves And breath snorts in huffs from their exertions, Then all quiet. Except the hum of combines a mile across the river, Of small birds chittering over golden bean fields, of My heart thumping.
A wee bit past midnight, to our friends' daughter A boy was born. The spoon you carved her first born Is very treasured. Hearing of this birth, I did pick up your tools, your wood, And honoring past ans present, did carve a spoon for Jaxson, Aidan's brother,
St. Paul declared "Love" the highest of three spiritual gifts: Faith, Hope, Love. I have read St. Agustine saw "Hope" the greatest Of these gifts, Saying Faith assures us that God is, and Love tells us God Is good, but Hope tells us God will continue to be among us and Work God's will. And Hope has two lovely daughters: Anger and Courage. Anger so What must not be, may not be; Courage so what should be, can be." Anger and Courage.
On this beautiful Friday evening I am seated Watching the sun flame the sky. The air is Warm and soft. Under a canopy deepening through blues, Under pine boughs lacing patterns, I Remember and reflect On a Friday afternoon twenty six years ago, A day perfect in my mind and heart and soul and I miss you.
Beneath lucid skies, the sun departs Leaving sweet colors stretched over head. Joy for eyes. Geese are calling to each other and the grackle Sound of a neighbor's old tractor drifts Across the fields. Beyond the fineness that my retinas record, My soul is fed. Not as with you but enough To get by.
The difference between grieving and grievance. The latter perhaps has, seeks time to strike out or Intentionally to hurt. In the former, I know, one hurts so badly on a path So narrow, so treacherous, there is no time to think beyond a moment. And I know, also, when time finally expands, it is gratitude For the treasure remembered that fills one, not wasting Time on grievances.
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.
