Clarity is hard
I’m so predictable, that after a weekend of excessive socializing, steady eating and drinking, listening and laughing, planning and moving, I crave a quiet moment to draw. I take my journal, a micron pen and my watercolors, and go for a walk along the neighborhood streets. I stop to take off my socks, in the warm morning sun, smiling at the worker on a coffee break. Continuing straight, I look down the narrow alleyways which arouse a feeling of a secrecy, hidden passageways calling to be explored, but I pass them by, knowing that I will find the window boxes in the direct sunlight of the wider streets. I think I want to draw them and capture their alluring charm, but I don’t stop. It’s not the window boxes. It’s more than that. Clarity is hard. So many small thoughts become impossible to piece together. Why try? Isn’t it enough to revel in a quiet mind without translation? We’re heading back north this afternoon. Good-bye Water Street doorways and Charleston sunshine. We’ll be back.