November 25, 2017

A great shape haunted the trees at the edge of my yard. It was a hawk. I got out the binoculars and saw an immature red tailed, its breast still speckled.

White roses lingers. An orange one is in bud.  David claims to have heard a frog jump into my pond.

Trip to Atlanta for Thanksgiving. The clan grows, two of the three nephews adding girlfriends, the niece adding a husband and a baby in her womb. Michael, Bekka’s husband, is a tall unflappable Dane whom everyone (including me) likes instantly.  Made it through the entire day smiling and participating. Though fully socialized, I am somewhat zealous of peace and autonomy– out of habit more than conviction-- and so many individuals at the same time present as a task. A task, however, which is remembered as a blessing. I don’t expect anyone to share my interests, so when asked, “What are you doing these days?” I must come off as a dullard. 

One sleepless night in the Hyatt in Alpharetta–who knows why? The next night I dreamed of making art, great canvases of mostly orange with hot sun-shapes in the midst of them. Friday was annihilated by exhaustion and the drive home, but today I actually did make art, though with very much less orange. Interesting tourists climbed the stair. “Do you dream your paintings?” asked one. Am calmer about my show. I think there will be enough work by then. Found two complete and usable frames in the mess.