HERE’s the view from the porch of my parent’s beach home, as of yesterday’s last light. It’s done on a piece of plywood found in the garage downstairs. North Carolina is my Mother’s home state, and this place on the ocean specifically her dream; it is she that can just be made out, casually daydreaming in the gazebo.
Meanwhile Alan is back home, holding down the fort(s), and looking after our boy Hoppers. I miss them both terribly. As I flew up on Spirit, the ticket seems cheap at first but they charge HOW MUCH for WHAT? airline, we figured it would make sense to ship up my paints, brushes, etc. And so it was done by Alan, packaged with greatest care, and a quality of tenderness I could not help but feel as love, even as I opened the box.
(All too often we miss completely that which is the only thing we long for, as it’s been so quietly and intentionally expressed in the details. Of necessity, we all love, and express ourselves, in ways that are different and individual. It might be true that we could all love more, but I suspect the challenge more immediate and worthy might be to love better, cashing in the weight of our expectations for greater openness, undertaking to miss no opportunity to recognize love for what it is, when- and wherever it may be offered. And to leave no doubt that it has been received, with gratitude. )
It is in that spirit exactly that I now pass along to you this image of a painting in progress, for your enjoyment.
It’s not finished yet, but I hope soon will be.