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?