When I was small and still in the heart of late summer evenings your deep orange aura brought me sparkling fire flies It was fantasy wrapped in gold - A respite from mean larger teens and their awareness of the adult world threatening to pierce the gift of wonder so precious and fleeting
Tried something new earlier in the week. Continuing to build momentum in my relationship with watercolor mistakes (oh so many mistakes) become opportunities. An exercise in watercolor gradations and temperatures of black were unsuccessful. Darks of the feather groupings on these black vultures were not so dark to escape hatching with fountain pen.
The prose poem is from a writing group I was part of over the summer.
I hope this week finds you well