The paper cutting class at the Nordic Museum is filled.
As is my grateful heart.
It's the season of joy, when even the weeds are breathtaking.
I'm wishing for light that lasts and lasts, and energy to match.
There is so much to sketch, paint, snip.
One hardly dares to carry out the salad trimmings to the compost pile lest
the distractions prove too much and the palette has to come out and play.
Entire afternoons can disappear this way. And do.
The inspiration progresses from eyes to hands to the brush and pen and scissors on the page.
On days like these, gratitude knows no bounds.
Thank you for the world so sweet.
Thank you for the food we eat.
Thank you for the birds that sing.
Thank you, God, for everything.