Seed
I feel the creative impulse and it is mysteriously unfolding. The urge to create pulsates within my solar plexus. It is antsy and impatient right up to the moment when the brush touches the canvas.
An image tucked within my mind tantalizes me like a passing shadow. I work the canvas with wide a brush and long arcing strokes. Again and again, first red then yellow ochre then green followed by white. The colors blend and by four rotations of the canvas, I see the grasslands of an open plain. It’s late and the canvas needs to dry.
Was it during a dream that a seed appeared or was it light dancing on the bedroom wall? Whatever triggered the image of an eye, or that of a seed returns and the canvas changes. The canvass is a window through which to view the soul. The dragon has stirred from his slumber and the seed has rested for a season.
