Painting is just another way of keeping a diary. ~ Picasso
It’s been too long since I wrote and doodled in my little leather, string-bound journal. It’s been so long that I forgot I had it until I came across it the other day while looking for a book in our office. Inside were hastily-written words and quick doodle-sketches…
Aug. 23, 2009
3:15 pm -> 9,000 ft. altitude
Sitting here by the stream…butterflies fluttering on the yellow wildflowers to the left…gentle breeze and the sound of the stream running over the rocks…intense pine scent on the air…coffee sipped in the late summer sunlight…a perfect Sunday afternoon. / The stream bottom glitters and shimmers with golden flecks of mica and fool’s gold in the sand…I’m the only one out here this afternoon!
Aug. 28, 2009
6:45 am -> patio
Walked out into the field and watched the sun rise over the eastern plains…clear sky saturated with the dawn. Songbirds and hummingbirds singing and chirping, golden light filling the patio, the flowers glowing in the fleeting moments between dark + light; precious minutes of magic. / Last night, while the adult hummingbirds fed at the feeder, tiny baby hummingbirds whirred and sipped at the petunias. I’ve never seen such tiny hummingbirds before… / The still morning air is flooding with light, warmth and wind. The coffee’s ready and the toast just about to pop up. The world out West is waking up.
I need to keep this little journal and an ink pen with me more often…