A few weeks ago I realized that a painting I previously thought was finished, actually wasn't. So, I took it up to the art room and propped it on an easel. Yes, it needed something but I wasn't sure what that something was. I studied it from the left and the right, drew a bit on the surface with a pencil, playing, waiting for the "something" to show up but it didn't. I trusted that eventually, when the time was right, I would know. Instead of getting anxious like I would have a couple of years back, I put it aside and moved on to another project. I think of it like a pot of soup simmering on the back burner. Then, in the midst of the delicious whirlwind that life has been lately, I completely forgot about the painting altogether. It wasn't until Olivia and I spotted two male cardinals in the yard and were in the process of making wishes and quickly touching the something blue that redbird wishing requires that I knew exactly what the painting was missing.
It makes me think of a fairy tale in which the eight blessings are tended and dispersed by a kindly, untiring, magical soul. Ghost kitties play at her feet and whole universes are in her pocket. Birds rest on her shoulder.
I placed the painting in the downstair's bathroom and the thought of blessings being delivered while I brush my teeth brings a smile.
Wishing you a day of the blessings,
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