Sleeping Birds

I’m on the beach one morning many springs ago, painting the slumping remains of a child’s creation. A castle of sand abandoned to careless tides of yesterday. I’m painting but not fully present. My mind is on another structure and a room washed in flaxen light, where time flows through nebulous hues, caressing cloudless hours.

A few bold sanderlings come into my view, they skitter over the mound, looking for a bit to eat. Up to the top and back down, they each take turns, reminding me of children playing King of the Hill. I make a little sketch in my book.

I came here early and caught the sun sleeping. Since her first blush of pink, I’ve been immersed in awe as color changes into lengthening waves of breathtaking hues. Absorbing the light with all of my senses, I memorize hues; lavender, bottle green, amber an aqua—my phone rings—a kind morning voice cradles the light.

It’s breakfast time for birds and other beings. I learn of petite wild blueberries and plain organic yogurt, and green tea in a large porcelain cup. I learn this morning in the salted air, how the art of life makes a moment immense and timeless. It’s the art of living beautifully that makes life appreciable. The scenes you allow to enter your eyes, the objects you surround yourself with, the people you let into your lives; all these things should be done in the light of love. Surround yourself with beauty and fine things that are true.

Surrounding my mind are beautiful images forming from verses on the phone. Beauty flows across the satellites. I lift my eyes, and see more beauty across the sand. At waters edge, I watch two sleeping birds—study their balanced forms. Quietly, a crescent of light touches their feathered breasts.

Somewhere, from that day, I have a sketch of a sleeping bird. It may be one that I give as a prize when I do a random drawing on my Facebook Studio. For a chance to win, simply “Like” my page, or be an original collector of mine.

And a sleeping bird may come to you.

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