Sitting with my arms resting upon my folded knees in front of me I can feel the gravel digging into the flesh underneath me. I’ve lost weight.
In my panoramic view I see the makings of a handmade patchwork quilt; countless shades of green, the land broken into various squares and rectangles by lines of wire fencing and grids of farmers fields. I am a humbled spectator watching the sun and clouds work together to create an impressive show featuring their cast favorites, shadows and light.
One rectangle in particular hosts a tribe of mules, their shining golden tails forever dancing in an effort to keep the summer flies at bay. I chuckle because I can’t contain my joy and appreciation for seeing something so impossibly wonderful; this picture that’s been so artfully crafted and laid out on a canvas before me.
I think about moments that have led me here. Flashes of my existence flutter through my brain; the past catching up to the future and landing me in the present. This present moment.
Behind a big beautiful house on a hill, sitting in the gravel drive, I’m seeing for the first time the product of ten years ago, three days ago, yesterday and one moment ago.
The canvas laid out for me, I proudly pick up my brush, stare down my demons and dare them to keep me from painting.