Wet gravity speaks
Ancestry wades tingling
Tide’s trembling wit
Exhales us yellow thirsty
Restoring slumber’s whisper.
Quiet evening alone
Sometimes when the house is quiet, you don’t know what to do? Sometimes, there is nothing to do, but rest. And, still others, you wish to share in the exhale.
I thought living at the lake, I would paint everyday, all day. Every moment I wanted to capture. Every moment a “ten” on the scale of “wow, isn’t that so beautiful!” Never was a sunset over the lake anything but a “ten ” to me.
Most times, the lake did not wish to be captured. I talk about this sometimes; that as an artist, I must be open and respectful of those moments meant only for me; only for those present. The object, the sunset, the emotion, the experience; does not wish to be caught! Such it was with the lake. I was not an artist there; rather, in conversation with a friend.
But sometimes, she indulged me when she had something she wanted to say. This evening was one such moment. Please, let her speak to you. Let her whisper with mist and humidity; sun and sunset.
paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower