The first time I fell in love, I truly fell for it – head over heels – it was somewhere between the brush and the canvas and my hand – between the music and the walls and my ears – the wind, the sky, and the trees –  between the inhalation and the following exhale – and the exhalation and the proceeding inhale – somewhere – dawn day dusk and night – everywhere – little things – big things – everything – the sacred and the profane – the absolute innocuously mundane – and I never fell out of love again.

And even as I’ve ambled down best-forgotten paths and for all of my human everything – for all of as many times as I’ve missed it, there it was (always) again – even lost and alone – I found myself there upon its shore following the thread woven through all things that is all things – hearts to minds to bodies to breath to I – connecting – guiding – leading me onwards – upwards – within – that if not for it’s divine chord, the entire symphony of life would cease to be.  And I return to my canvas and we do our work and play our part in that song of songs and life – it just goes on.