Writers Write - Sunday with Seurat
Decidedly no longer an urban cliff dweller.
No longer a habitué of loft living - sans Jerry Brown - sans la violence.
la la la
Walking to yoga and into a day most certainly worthy of George Seurat.
Skies a cerulean blue.
Winds scattering leaves and speaking of fall impending.
Wondering.
Listening to the sighs of time in the boughs of ancient trees - studying their rings - listening to what was.
Back in the space and time that is deliberate - harvest time - crops and thoughts and dreams.
Decidedly enraptured with all that is.
Walking to yoga and then coffee and then around town.
The same actions transposed to different environs become transcendental. Where in one you must remain in ever constant vigilance as to your surroundings, in the other utter abandonment to the surrounding beauty is not only possible, but recommended.
Now on to play with paint.
It's okay to isolate, as long as you don't do it alone.
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