Dear Sunshine,
Remember the day you taught me to paint? You squeezed dabs of colour from tiny tubes onto that block of wood. You told me to go mad. Not to think, just to act. Whatever was meant to come out, would. You didn’t care if I wasted supplies or made a mess. You told me it was all important to the process.
We were happy that day. You were happy, filled with equanimous hope. Such a rarity, to see you that way. I wondered why, on that day, you came alive. Was it the paint? The prospect of creation? Or was it the transmission of knowledge, something for which you had passion and promise?
I often remember that day with fondness. It reminds me that it wasn’t all bad. We had our moments.
Thank you for that.
Love
G