It Was to be Painted.

I have a beautiful muse-like presence in my life. I quite wanted to paint her and she shyly sent me photos.

It was four am when I stood in the middle of all of my work and decided I must paint her immediately, because inspiration knocked. But then...I went to cut the wood...and none.

Why can't the stores adhere to my artist-like hours? Sadly I packed it in for the night.

The next day I had errands to run and then an appointment to make. Glancing at my watch my heart got sadder and sadder as I realised I could not make it back across town to the hardware store. Then my appointment ran long and I did not get home until after 7. The store shut at 9 but I had no way of making it there. Despair!

Then...then I was out and do you know what I found? 1x. A pile of 1x in great condition, some ends with barcodes still on. Somebody had bought a pile of wood for a project, used what they needed, and thrown the scraps out on the road. A sunbeam streams through. I jump out of the car and run over. Lypsie wood. I smile all the way home.

That night (last night) I fall ill. I sit for one minute before making dinner and then I wake, this morning, in bed. I don't know what happened. And then this morning the fever. I think 'if you can do anything, just paint what you have...don't build anything, muse painting shall have to wait.'

Then...CRACK. Thunder. Lightning. The computers must be turned off, which means I cannot paint afterall.

A wave of sweet storm air. My head clears a little. No way to paint so I must build.

Ahhhh, yes. The foundation for my muse. With the Lypsie wood. Just enough gathered.

This painting just has to get done, no?
At the time I finish sawing the last piece the clouds clear.
I load up my browser.
And run to her photos.