Shelter in Place

Sitting in the snow, 6:30 in the morning, painting a watercolor. You do not fuss, finesse, noodle. You don't even think, at least not about the painting at hand. You throw paint down as fast as you can while there is still a hint of feeling in your fingers; all the while shivering intensely. You hit a breaking point, gather your tools together and throw them in your vehicle. You head for the nearest cup of coffee you can find. That is a good cup of coffee because while you enjoy it you are enjoying more the fact that you've done your part, held up your side of the agreement to the best of your ability. No one could ask more of you. Finally at home or where ever you go to find shelter you have a chance to look; to see what you put down in blinding instinctual bursts of inspiration. Sometimes it's stunning. How could that have happened? Who did this? It had to have been me. I'm the one who answered the alarm at 4; took charge over all the weaker parts of my personality who just wanted to stay warm and asleep. I am the one who sat shivering with frozen fingers. Still, who was really piloting the ship? Heaven? Angels? Spirits? I can say for certain, something is moving my hands, guiding my subconscious and I love the way it feels. It's mystifying.

Nell waits, curled up and faithful, ears perked listening. She knows every sound that comes from inside. Anna is already in the kitchen ahead of Karl. Ham is sizzling in the pan. karl is coming down the stairs, pulling his chair up to the table. The tension is unbearable. She holds her position doing everything to keep her body warm. Anxious to hear the backdoor crack. Soon it will be time. She explodes from her cave to meet his feet and feel the kindness in his hand, to share in the scraps he has set aside just for her.

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