a flash of the most brilliant red,
startled me awake –
flitting from the bay laurel into the sweet gum,
from the sweet gum into the oak
flashes of red streamed into my head –
with every streak.
but still i wonder:
would he have seemed so red,
if the sky had not been so blue.
Nothing is simply black or white.
(this is the work in progress that became the above painting and poem)
what is your process?
do You meditate?
do You journal?