As I sit in this evening thinking of my Day and how my life can be so crowded. I will let go of most of my harsh disturbances, those annual visits that are all business except for a small bit of conversation. However, is there ever enough time for me, I have allowed my creativity to be expressed in book form, with a external love across a wide net. Casting my book to the shelves to be embraced! Waiting to be caught.
Now as I work in such a small amount of time; I see how I have shed my protective web. I’m looking forward in abstractions of my poetry found within, as I work. I know what is seen, or read, or heard, depends on the eyes of those who look! There are many meanings to even one sentence for me, one brush stroke. Definitions lost, looking for clarity, where finding words span circles, stretching across the canvas of my life. I am the artist and as I open to be seen, I release without expectations only hope! I do love the whimsy of my life and work! Yet now I shall work to be defined! My book in form without function to be sold. Hopes finds a place where hearts wait to be seen.
