Friday, February 18, 2022

Looking Up

The sky paints with fire!

We have all seen it.  The vivid and the vague, the bright and the dull, they all take away our most shallow breath, slow our hearts beating, and gift us with unexpected peace.

Standing on the shoreline, of what I call, "at the top of the bay," I hear a whispered lyric, a paraphrased, slightly altered version of an old Beatles song.

"When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Nature calls to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And as the daylight turns to darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be."

Over 365 days of pandemic night, I stood in my spot at the top of the Bay watching color shift from the weight of the passing day and burn with the hope of tomorrow. 

The next day will be different,  it will be better. Look up, how can it be denied. Summer breeze,  winter gale⁹, fog banks and boats under sail, every day is different if not truly better.  But, she is standing there, right in front of me, whispering, "Get your brush, your knives, your pigments,  I challenge you. Paint with fire!" she says.

There is doubt.  A bit of uncertainty.   I have painted for 50 years now, but I can't light a candle compared to her fire.  I hear my own muse, "But you must.  This virus can not take it all."  She is persistent,  and yeah, to me, she is female, not a woman, but female. She is strong, persistent and protective.  She has several names.  She has been Kim, Paula, Roselinda, Rain, but for this year of Covid-19 she is Sky.  

I feel her on the wind. I smell her on the breeze. I hear her in my heart.  And I see her as I am looking up.  Finally, I acknowledge her, and lift my brush. I scream in silent joy, spread my pigment, and when all the days have passed, there are 50 paintings and an enlightend heart.

The sky paints with fire, and for a time, so does this guy.

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