Another season is whirling by- I am thinking about a Labor Day BBQ and it is not yet 4th of July. I am worrying about how to hold on to it, to slow it down, to take the time to really see each passing day. I hold my new painting in my hands and look at it. I am the woman on the beach. That is my dog. Those pastels have replaced the vibrant colors of my youth. I mark its place on the wall, the wall of my longed-for beach house, and I drive in the nail. I set my painting in a place of pride to remind me that at day’s end, I, too might walk gently into the sunset.
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