Never in 10 billion years would I have thought I would be a writer. A college professor in my first writing class wrote all over my first attempt in big bold letters, Worst writing he had ever read. Rude. That critique didn’t improve my writing. It made me dislike him and therefore any learning or teaching he could have given was not going to happen. Unfortunate.
Many years later I still have no idea if I have improved, but now I just don’t care. I write because I want to and to me. that is everything.
In a way I don’t have enough time to write. I have so much to share. I will have a conversation with some one and a hundred ideas will pop into my head. Oh, I could write about that and I could write about that too. Makes me laugh.
This morning I got up and thought, I have a little bit of time, I should write something. But I didn’t know what to write about. Go figure. And that makes me laugh too.
So I sat down with my cup of coffee and open up the laptop. I spot a new tube of acrylic paint on my desk. Burnt Sienna. Just spotted it in the hobby section of my local grocery store. I didn’t even know they sold acrylic paints. but there it was. A delightful color that drew me in and instantly was in my basket.
I am going to try my hand at writing about this, something so totally random I have no idea what will come of it. What fun. Here we go.
Rich, warm and bold
but cosy comfy and huggable
like the color of exotic chocolate
simmering in a winter mug
a sun baked Utah rock
waiting to disarm the desert night chill
feels like home and I want to sleep in it
so gentle in a strong unassuming way
a blend of lower chakras all steeped in one pot
planetary images from distant suns
to the mud cake dust beneath my feet
dip the brush just to the tip
the canvas eagerly awaits