we are the trees whom shaking fastens more
this creative spicket has been opened in me, but i’m pretty sure the water is frozen in the pipes due to a long winter and my hands aren’t cooperating with the images in my head so what comes out on canvas is a sore sight and sorry excuse for what exists inside.
so i revert back to my dearest: watercolor.
courtesy of my lovely sarah and the purple crayon: hymns for the playful
where does one go after they’ve attained their dream job and seem to be laughing infinitely at the goodness of the universe?
that’s where i’m going.
wherever that place is, it’s going to include lots of madeleine l’engle, tolkien, and apple pie.
in other news: God is walking in my dreams like The Giver and crashing down like fire elsewhere. someone hand me a bucket of water…