8:26 PM. 82 degrees. 70% humidity. I walk through the damp grass to the edge of our property and look at the spot where the sun has set behind the big sycamore. There is a slight smell of smoke on a soft breeze. The sound of myriad insects almost drowns out the robin and the towhee. It's an absolutely beautiful evening. I wish you were here and I'm glad you're not.
I've been, I guess you could say,
struggling with a painting all afternoon. I'm sure I wouldn't have taken the time to go out and have this pleasant experience if my daily project hadn't brought me out here. But now the mosquitoes have found my feet. Time to go back in and pick up my brush again.
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