Watercolors and Roses

I complete the front of the card. I lift it carefully and carry it out to the yard. 

The sun is high in the sky.

It will take a short time for the watercolors to dry. 

I set it carefully on the grass.

The divisions between the colors are barely discernible.

But in the clarity of the sunlight, I can see where the fresh brush strokes collided in a damp spot and forced an irregular fusion of colors. Creating a darker composition than I intended. 

The two shapes look like teardrops, swimming towards each other.

The story I am telling is of an unplanned course that I had to embrace. 

I did not plan to separate myself from home for more than four years. 

But when I met my husband, the son of a career diplomat who was accustomed to establishing belonging, we found comfort and love in our commonality of status. 

We married, started a family and settled in New York.


I've had these dried roses for over two decades; they have outlasted any longevity predictions...aren't they beautiful? They represent many moments in my life that have left me breathless with awe and wonder. Maybe I should paint them?


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