with dinner comes paint...
one wee little: mama
me: ya
one wee little: you know what
me: what
one wee little: it feels like a painting kind of day
me: does it now
one wee little: yep, what do you say
me: well, i guess painting it will be
me: but first can i finish making dinner and then we can paint
one wee little: can't you do both
me: well i guess i can
one wee little walks over to the fridge and grabs himself a huge handful of cranberries
me: what are you going to do with those, might i ask
one wee little: {looking at me as if i had no brain} paint mama, i'm gonna paint
me: oh, i see...what colors would you like
one wee little: how's about green, gold, you know, the shiny kind and black
me: green, black and the shiny kind of gold, huh?
one wee little: yep, oh and mama, can i have a a piece of the carrot your cutting?
me: a piece of carrot...for eating or painting
one wee little: painting, remember we're painting
one wee little: oh and i need a piece of that celery too
me: one piece of celery and carrot coming up
one wee little: thanks mama
me: no problem
i sat for a moment and watched the creator at hand
fascinated always i am
to watch my wee little at work
one wee little: look mama...abstract
me: lookin good buddy, lookin good
though i thought to myself...it was turning out quite cute at first
but tis not my process
nor my art
one wee little: mama...aren't you going to paint
me: well dinner is done, so i most definitely can
one lesson this wee little has given me
is...it's not so much about the finished piece
as it is the process
it is within those moments
that teaches us to be impertinent
just as a child
their mind allotting the freedom to play
one wee little: are you painting the sky
me: honestly buddy, i am not quite sure...but i guess the sky it could be
one wee little: could you imagine a gold filled sky
me: wouldn't that be a dream
one wee little: you are painting trees...will you teach me how to paint a tree like that
me: most definitely so
so on this day
i say awaken your mind
rekindle with the child of what once was
seek it out
go knockin on it's door
dust off the cobwebs that have collect over time
shake off the fears that came to be
restrained by an adult like mind
hold no reservations
have no hesitation
don't waste away time
forgetting what it means to play
as my littles forever are teaching me
life is found in the process of doing
not in the finished piece
woods of winter...
as i knit
i imagine walking the woods...
shades of browns and grays and soft subtle sweets hues of pink filling my eyes... bleakness...starkness...the land surrounding...tis a silent hush...sleeping ones tending their spirit at best...resting quietly...calmly...no stirring found...desolate scenes left standing from the winds and rain...the frigid ice and snow...yet the river rages...dancing upon the rocks below...
Ruth Stout once said:
"There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you. In Spring, Summer and Fall people sort of have an open season on each other Only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quieter stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself."