Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 1

OLD BOOKKEEPING, NEW PAINTING


What will become of the fine lines I use to divide good news from bad? How will I handle a life with no screen to keep the silt from shifting across my personal landscape? A delicate crosshatch had kept little checks in little boxes; now the checks are bouncing randomly, no pattern or restraint. My old bookkeeping has come to an abrupt end, leaving many questions and much uncertainty. I lift the green visor from my brow, looking for answers from the periphery. Taking the long view I put down my pencil and pick up my paints, sling the easel over my shoulder and walk away from meticulous survival. The fine lines I have now are in my brush strokes and even bad news is somehow good.


Donate some time.


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Saltbox House

Refusing to make reasonable demands
is quite as dysfunctional as making unreasonable demands.
The opposite of an extreme is often twice as crazy
and harder to explain.

I open my mouth and dry toast is the reply.
Nothing should be said when nothing can be done
and to do nothing is harder than one might think.

I fold my hands but my lap rejects them;
I quiet my mind but my soul objects.
I must let my heart sing
and trust you enough to ask for help.