A whisper. The tiniest whisper. “What…?... paint…?... now? I'd barely crawled out of bed, mesmerized by the eclipse of the moon. I asked again, “Now?” One foot in front of the other…music already in the air. I was poised to let go. Swaying to the music…went to fill my pallet. No colors called out. Trying to avoid blue...too many paintings in shades of blue. Back to the music. Daylight already creeping in.
Trying, avoiding, desiring…this will never work. "Don’t take my Don Juan. I can’t lose him yet." Ringing in my ears. Truth. Tears flooding. Relief. Fluidity. Pallet full, paint flowing. Canvas spinning.
The familiar urgency showing up. Time is running out. Hurry, before the music stops, before you miss it…before He/She/Me slips away. Pay attention. Listen! Harsh words. One foot in front of the other.
My heart, defense against the wilderness. Don Juan…I’ve got your back, you’ve got mine. Fifteen years, as I painted, danced, cried and thrived. One foot in front of the other, with all my love.