If time is like a river, when you hold your hand against the current, does time wash around you? Push and pull you. Slip around you. Hold tight: push it back. Twirl and whirl, like flying hands flipping the current of air out the window of a car.
Did you do that when you were a kid? Let your hand bounce and sway in the air as you rush along. I don't do that much now that I know how to drive. Being a passenger I can't let go of mantle of responsibility. Mirror, shoulder, mirror. Watch the traffic. Even when I'm not driving. To let someone else drive and to sit back - that's a little pleasure. I do that sometimes when Mr Tacc drives. Trust to know that you are safe, like you were when you were a kid, with your family, going places.
I'm rowing upstream at the moment, like so many of us. I wonder what the banks of the stream are like, and if there are picnics to be had on grassy green banks. Flowers to pick. Time rushes but playtime, it stretches.
Tonight I have spent the evening on my own, drawing whatever comes to mind. Not this wistful rower: she came along a few months ago. Solid things. Coffee cups and pear trees. A strange little llama. And a coupla characters I'm rather pleased with.
I'm thinking (deep breath) - I'm thinking I'm going to sign up for a night class in children's book illustration. I don't feel like I can afford it, but who cares? (And that's my own fault for not doing last year's tax, silly girl -- so far missing out on Kevin's play money. Sorry; stimulus. I reckon some drawing stimulus and a challenge from someone outside would be good.) The moral of the story I need to illustrate with my own life is: catch up, do your paperwork, get your beans and take them out to the drawing garden, where they might grow.
Do you think there might be flowers?