They accept with open arms.
The sidewalk that winds its way
I hear their song as they fall.
The cats build secret nests lined with their perfume,
I stand under the tree
The latest accidental collage.
I keep this acrylic stand on my desk/table top, next to the computer, next to where I work on paintings if they're small enough. Usually facing me is the R. Buckminster Fuller quote - Dare to be naive, an old calendar page-a-day quote. But in the hustle-mustle of last weekend's painting binge, things got moved around, knocked over, pushed here & there, words scattered hither & yon, and when I began to clean up (I say that in all seriousness, knowing that there is still stuff piled everywhere; I should be ashamed) I was taken with the above phrase, when no wind stirs, and I dropped it into the stand next to those hands & that blank Polaroid I love so much, just so I could think about it later. Maybe it will inspire me, I thought. I looked later & realized what a lovely juxtaposition it made. Self made art, found poetry.
The wind is stirring outside, though, and last night brought rain. The catawba tree is bursting with blossoms, and I opened the blinds this morning in the semi-darkness to silver pools of water gathered in the street, reflecting porch lights & street lights, white flowers floating atop those reflections. The day has now dawned, gray & cloudy, and green, green, green; the monkey grass is almost knee-high and honeysuckle is blooming all along the wall of the creek, white & pale buttery-yellow. If I were out in the rain, I could smell its sweetness - it greets me each evening when I come home, wanting its honeysuckle belly rubbed, just like a cat, and I seldom resist. There is no other color in the yard but overwhelming green, made brighter by this early morning drizzle, slowing down now - I can hear individual drops hitting the back porch and the front sidewalk. As I type this sentence, however, color comes into view in the form of a neighbor out for her morning walk, wearing a raincoat the exact pale yellow of the honeysuckle, a pale yellow that seems startling bright against all this green. As she passes by, Mary's porchlight twinkles into view behind the catawba tree limbs & green ginkgo leaves - it will always be Mary's porchlight to me, though she is gone, and the house will soon have new caretakers; you must forgive me. The wind is stirring a bit more now, and the rain is stirring also - I can see it hit the bricks of the road, each individual splash a silver spark in this dull morning light. Except for the sound of this slowing-down-again rain, there is only the soft whirr of the computer, and the clicks of the keys as I type, and the almost silent hum of the refrigerator behind me in the kitchen. No fan, no air conditioning, no birds yet. A quiet, quiet morning. Maggie the cat is asleep in a basket atop the washing machine, waking now & then to peer out the window, hoping the rain has stopped, wanting to be outside. She won't have long to wait. I can hear a bird welcoming the weekend.
If I can stay awake, it is a perfect day for painting.
i hope your saturday is as calm as today's beginning