Home for the Holidays

I don’t know what it is. Why is it I focus better alone. On my art, I mean. I feel that warmth that lives behind my consciousness. It’s tingling. I find my self reading more than I have been, still far less than I should. But I know along this familar, welcoming path the tingling will continue. The tingling will increase and I anticipate that. I look forward to it. I embrace it like a hug from my mother when I want to escape being an adult.

Today is a hard day. A day that I welcome with open arms. Because today I am reacquainting with an old friend. A friend that let’s me roam around investing in the hearts and lives of others then welcomes me home at any time.