Ordinary Magic

Another lovely spring day. There"s a pale blue sky dappled with grey and white, lavender and cerulean. It's very still. The wheelbarrow is empty, and the fire pit is filling with the evidence of our work. The living room drapes are not open yet. On the kitchen table, the african violets are beginning to bloom. The white buds on the middle one have opened this morning, greeting me with a sunny yellow eye. I can see buds forming on the other two, but as violets will, they are taking their time. Pushing their faces into the south-facing kitchen window, the geraniums just can't get enough of the new sunshine. In a tangle of stems and leaves, they turn to the light.

I am here now, free and here now. I can be a witness to the magic around me. The ordinary magic that is my life, every body's life. All life. With my eyes and my ands, with my words and my brushes, I can channel the magic. That's what I am, an artist. A channel. Maybe we all are, and we paint in different ways, using our tools of choice.