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Poets and Painters

Updated: Oct 20, 2022

The (very) early morning summons me…again. I wonder why so early? It’s dark through the window in my studio where I curl up to have coffee, and it will be dark for quiet sometime. It’s a lonely feeling, but in a good way. It is just me. I wait for the sunrise while I enjoy the pause and silence the darkness causes. Soon enough the outside will become noisy with the sunrise, a chorus of birds will wake as they do each day and begin their songs, the school bus will clang down the street and the squirrels will run on my roof as the jump unto trees and run through the backyard. The world will wake up once more. But early in the morning, the world belongs to only me. I know I will be sleepy later in the day and perhaps I will nap, but maybe not. I read somewhere that the early morning is a place for poets and painters; I agree. I turn on a small lamp and sit and study the painting on my easel. It’s a simple painting of a beautiful pear. I decide it is ready to be completed…so I do that.

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