hopefields. sacred life.
hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words
and never stops… at all. ~emily dickinson
. . . . .
hello over there. today.
today. what are you up to today.
i am up to….running to the post to mail off bits of shop fun. heading to the gallery and hang this bad boy up and to make loads of paper flowers for our upcoming annual gala. then home for another late night of painting to prep for this weekends “indie love lounge”. another busy week full of art. color and paperwork. yep. living the dream. don’t you just love how that works.
i remember a man and how chills over took the skin of my arms and neck, each time he spoke of hope. his little town hope. this girl raised in a little town. a town that some days could stand a little extra here and there. maybe a bit more than that. and some days i often wonder. some days i stew in the thoughts and frustrations. and then a little light will shine in on my day. it could be a little wave from an old friend. a new face in our coffee house or it could be that familiar face on the nightly news, that face that some don’t care to look at, but one that pushes me gather up any little lost bits and wrap them up in my arms like a field full of pink and orange poppies. vibrant. warm as the colors i always move towards. a field. full. full of poppies.