I hope I never live in tunnels. I hope I never have to say, "It's a tight fit, but it looks like it opens up on the other side. I'm going in." I hope I'm never thrown into pitch black by the failure of some torch or lamp. I'm a surface dweller at heart.
The painter thinks of everyone he sees, everyone who sits across from him for a portrait, that there is a sadness to them, just below the surface. He will always try to capture this sadness with brush strokes and colors. The painter cannot see what any writer could spot right away. It is the painter, in fact, that is sad. Sad eyes see sad everywhere. Sad hands paint sad eyes, sad mouths, sad smiles. The writer knows this because the writer works below the surface where the sadness lives. Painters live on the surface, guessing what is underneath.
Somewhere, deep in the earth, an earthworm tries to wriggle free of his radio collar. Scientists in white coats record every pulsation and movement of the struggle, jotting down notes on clipboards. The earthworm has never been a fan of science, being more of an artistic soul. The scientists make note of this and nod to each other. Very interesting indeed. What is my point? No artist ever stuck a radio collar on a worm. That's all I'm saying.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Love.
