Kauai

I see you sitting on the patio
Slouched back
Soaking up the sun and the morning
White floppy sail cloth hat
Worn tee shirt
Baggy shorts
Barefoot
Big Smile

Paintings and a Poem

(some prose on painting)

Sometimes, when I paint,
I dance a dance of counterpoint
              where I begin with an X,
              and  counter with a Y:
As in the movement of a line
              where,
              the vertical stroke demands to be followed by one good horizontal;
              or, maybe, the horizontal begs to be slashed
                            right down the middle by a vertical;
              or, maybe, even, out of the blue,
                            an exhilarated diagonal liberates itself and shoots off the canvas.
As in a duet of complements
              where,
              the yellow gets sick of being yellow and demands a splash of purple;
              or, maybe, a blue hankers after an interruption of orange;
              or, red won’t go anywhere without green.
As in shadow and light
              where,
              the dark insists upon at least
              a spot of pure white aligned against it
              so as to become the blackness that it is.
In this way, the painting progresses in its spiraling search for balance
             Until the need for a final dangling element, the final touch
             a point without a counter 
(the balance of the entirety is threatened!)
             but, no, the magic holds
                            barely.

14 March 24 write

Memories of elder women of past years.
Jo, next  door neighbor, who complained that, 
at 68, she needs to rest after only a very
short stint of yard work. She chided us, newly moved in