"Grief is great"

A picture of how I've been feeling a lot this past week: a little girl in need of climbing up into her Father's lap.

A friend died last week. I'd hoped to have some art representing the joy he'd been in the lives of those who had known him, but instead all I have is an older picture, which was a good reminder for me tonight.

Wonder at the Creator's art

Today we had a walk in the woods seeing the wonders of a short cold spell. Following are a few pictures of the wonders we saw, along with a few from Colorado that crept in while I was trying to guess at which were the ones I wanted to share.

Freedom

A sound. Roll call! I leap out of bed and land in—softness? I stand trembling.

Freedom. It is a gift. The world is so beautiful -- so wonderful..., and yet, can she ever be truly free? Laugh, love, smile. Or does even now the camp hold her in mockery, clutching her in its long dark shadow.

Can Peace find her?



An attempt to illustrate some of the emotions of a short story I wrote.

Wanderer

Long ago, I read a poem about a gypsy who, wandering up a country lane, sees a house with looking welcoming, and a lady spinning within. At that moment, she longs to be within.

The housewife, looking out, seeing the gypsy in the wild free air, longs to leave her spinning and go out traveling.

I've often felt like that gypsy. Many times, I've looked at a friend who has stayed in one place all their lives and wished that I too, could be comfortably sitting in a place I could truly call home, that I could be a sitting stone, comfortably gathering moss (to mix metaphors). Some day I hope to paint that scene of the poem -- but not today.

Today the wind is calling. I am the wanderer seeing the downy seed dancing on the wind and longing to follow.

Perhaps the Maker of the wind will give me leave.

Kiosque Peynet

An older watercolor, this was done so I had a painting of France to go with some from West Africa I'd done. I chose the kiosque as I used to ride by it on the way to school. It is where Peynet likely first began to get his fame, as it is there that he was inspired to draw the first of his (relatively) famous series of lovers. The peak in in the background is the ruins of the Chateau du Crussol, which often played upon my imagination.

A lot of Valence did, from the winding footpath cobblestone road that perhaps my parents had walked upon before I was born, to the great doors with a handle in the middle of the door, to the school I went to with its millstream, forgotten well, and forbidden sections (it was a convent as well as school) the gymnasium we walked to play basketball in. The gym was large and old, with a bullet hole in the high glass. With the Vercors mountains, in which the resistance hid, looming up over the city, I couldn't help wondering if it had played any part in the second World War.