Time is small and precious.

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Coronavirus time reminds me of when my son was really little and I would sneak in painting sessions when he napped. I never knew exactly how long I would have. I just knew the time was small and precious. I gave little efforts that somehow, miraculously, added up. 

Even though he’s older now, capable of entertaining himself (though not eager to do so), I’m still trying to sneak in painting between the endless tasks that come with being mostly stuck at home and engaging with the child I’m trying to prevent from becoming a video-game zombie.

Yesterday’s effort was small. There was nothing profound about it. There was not blood or tears or pain or discomfort. And yet. 

Three tiny paintings. Three blooms. From three original itty bitty teeny tiny seeds.

I’m not moving mountains here. But I’m finding my place in them. One little step at a time. 

The plan is for these three to be joined by a handful more. Once the motley crew bouquet is complete, I’ll add them to the shop.

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